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PIM£I-SOUTHWORTH 


Why  Did  He  Wed  Her? 


A  NOVEL 


By  MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH 

Author  of  "Em,"  "  Em's  Husband,"  "  For  Whose  Sake,' 
"Lilith,"   "The  Unloved  Wife,"  Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
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By  MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH 

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CAPITOLA'S  PERIL 

CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE 

"EM" 

EM'S  HUSBAND 

FOR  WHOSE  SAKE 

ISHMAEL 

LILITH 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE 

THE  CHANGED  BRIDES 

THE  HIDDEN  HAND 

THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE 

SELF-RAISED 

WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER 


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Copyright,  1884 
By  ROBERT  BONNER 

WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER 

Printed  by  special  arrangement  with 
STREET  &  SMITH 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  THE  ATTIC 

"PALMA,  will  you  give  me  the  legal  right  to  care  for  you  ? 
Will  you  have  me  for  your  husband  ?"  he  asked,  gently  tak- 
ing her  hand  and  bending  over  her. 

"Oh,  sir,  do  you  mean  it?  Can  you  mean  it?"  she 
breathed,  gazing  up  in  his  face  with  childish  frankness, 
surprise  and  delight — the  failing  light  kindling  in  her  dark 
eyes,  the  fading  color  flushing  in  her  wan  cheeks. 

"I  do  mean  it,  dear  child.  Will  you  give  yourself  to 
me?"  he  asked,  smoothing  her  dark  hair  with  his  jeweled 
hand. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  if  you  want  me;  but  I  am  such  a  poor 
creature,"  she  answered,  holding  out  to  him  her  wasted 
hand  and  smiling  faintly. 

"So  be  it,  then,"  he  said,  lifting  the  little  hand  to  his 
lips. 

"What  a  mockery!  Sir,  you  must  be  mad,"  severely 
spoke  a  woman  who  stood  beside  the  poor  invalid  chair  in 
which  the  fading  girl  reclined,  and  over  which  the  fine 
gentlemar  leaned. 

She  was  right. 

It  did  indeed  seem  a  mockery — a  cruel,  bitter,  insulting 
mockery. 

For  the  scene  of  this  startling  proposal  of  marriage  was 
in  the  rear  room  in  the  attic  of  an  old  tumbling-down 
tenement  house  in  the  lowest  and  most  thickly  crowded 
quarter  of  the  city. 

The  one  dormer  window  in  the  sloping  roof  looked  out 
8 


2226767 


4  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

upon  a  jumble  of  dilapidated  buildings  with  tottering  walls, 
rickety  sashes  and  broken  doors,  and  down  into  squalid 
back  yards,  from  which  arose  the  pestilential  stench  of  de- 
caying garbage. 

This  Gehenna  was  full  of  people  whose  look  was  scarcely 
human — creatures  in  every  stage  of  sin,  disease  and  suffer- 
ing; and  from  its  depths  as  from  the  sulphurous  Abyss  of 
Styx,  borne  up  in  the  fever-laden  air,  arose  the  wails  of 
children,  the  plaints  of  women  and  the  growls  of  men. 

From  further  off  came  the  deafening  and  incessant  rattle 
and  thunder  of  traffic  and  machinery. 

Such  was  the  hell  around  the  tall  old  tenement  house. 

Within  the  poor  back  attic  room  all  was  clean  and  quiet. 
The  stench  and  noise  from  below  scarcely  reached  its 
height. 

It  was  a  room  of  about  twenty  feet  square  at  bottom, 
but  the  back  roof  sloped  from  the  boards  halfway  across 
the  low  ceiling.  The  bare  walls  were  freshly  whitewashed, 
the  bare  floor  cleanly  scrubbed. 

The  dormer  window  in  the  back  roof  was  shaded  by  a 
clean  white  curtain. 

Opposite  the  window,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
stood  a  little  box  iron  stove,  with  its  low  pipe  thrust 
through  a  hole  in  the  chimney,  cold  now  in  the  warm  spring 
weather.  To  the  right  of  this,  in  the  corner,  stood  a  rude 
cupboard  made  of  two  pine  boxes,  placed  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  open  in  front,  and  provided — the  upper  one  with  a 
few  pieces  of  cheap  crockery,  and  the  lower  with  a  few 
cooking  utensils.  To  the  left,  in  the  corner,  stood  a  poor 
little  cheap  sewing  machine — idle  now,  these  many  weeks, 
since  the  work  had  fallen  from  the  failing  hands  of  the 
fair  young  seamstress. 

On  the  right  side  of  the  room,  with  its  head  against  the 
wall,  stood  a  small,  single  cot-bed,  covered  with  a  patch- 
work quilt  of  many  colors.  To  the  right  of  this  stood  an 
old  bureau,  with  its  top  covered  by  a  white  cloth.  On  it 
lay  a  Bible,  a  prayer  book  and  a  hymn  book.  Above  it,  on 
the  wall,  hung  a  crucifix.  To  the  left  was  a  pine  table,  also 
covered  with  a  white  cloth. 

Opposite  the  foot  of  the  cot,  across  the  width  of  the 
room,  was  the  door  leading  into  the  passage,  and  on  each 
side  of  this  door  stood  a  wooden  chair 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  5 

Such  was  the  scene  in  which  our  drama  of  life  opens.  As 
for  the  actors: 

The  first  speaker  was  a  man  in  the  morning  of  life, 
health  and  strength;  a  tall,  handsome,  stately  blond,  with 
fresh  complexion,  blue  eyes  and  silky,  yellow  hair  and 
mustache.  He  was  perfectly  dressed  in  a  day  suit  of  gray 
tweed.  He  was  an  elegante  and  an  aristocrat  from  head 
to  foot. 

She  to  whom  he  spoke  was  a  young  girl  scarcely  past 
childhood,  a  brune  brunette,  with  a  thin,  dark  face,  large, 
cavernous,  dark  eyes,  and  a  wilderness  of  curling,  dark  hair 
wandering  all  over  her  head,  neck  and  shoulders.  The  fires 
of  fever  kindled  in  her  hollow  eyes  and  burned  in  her 
wasted  cheeks.  And  yet  she  was  a  creature  of  wondrous 
beauty  even  in  decay.  She  was  clothed  in  a  faded  blue 
wrapper,  and  lay  back,  propped  with  pillows,  in  an  old  arm- 
chair near  the  window. 

The  last  speaker  was  a  woman  of  middle  age,  with  a  tall, 
spare  form,  a  pale,  careworn  face  and  iron-gray  hair,  which 
she  wore  parted  plainly  over  her  forehead  and  screwed  up 
into  a  tight  little  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head.  She  wore 
a  rusty  gown  of  black  alpaca,  without  collar  or  cuffs  to  re- 
lieve it. 

"Why  should  it  be  a  mockery,  Mrs.  Pole?"  inquired  the 
young  man,  dropping  the  hand  of  the  girl  and  drawing 
himself  up. 

"It  is  all  nonsense,  and  worse  than  nonsense.  And  you 
ought  to  know  it,  sir.  The  child  is  too  young  to  marry,  any- 
how, if  she  was  ever  so  well  and  strong.  And  now  just  look 

at  her.  She  is Oh,  you  needn't  stare  at  me  and  shake 

your  head,  sir !  She  knows  her  state.  She  is  fully  recon- 
ciled to  it.  The  minister  has  been  with  her  every  day  for 
a  week  past.  She  is  a  young  saint,  prepared  for  Heaven, 
sir,  not  a  girl  ready  to  be  married.  No,  sir.  'For  of  suck 
is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven/  " 

Cleve  Stuart  did  not  answer  this,  but  turned  and  took 
again  the  hand  of  the  girl  and  looked  in  her  face. 

She  raised  her  brilliant  dark  eyes  to  his  with  a  depre- 
cating glance,  and  then  replied  to  the  woman : 

"Don't,  don't,  dear  nurse ;  you  make  me  ashamed !  I 
a  saint!  Oh,  far  from  it.  Not  fit  for  the  kingdom;  only 
hoping  in  the  Father's  mercy  through  His  Son." 


6  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Cleve  Stuart  silently  pressed  her  hand. 

"But  she  is  right  in  one  respect,  sir,"  continued  the  girl. 
"I  do  know  my  condition,  and  I  am  reconciled  to  it.  The 
Father's  will  be  done,"  she  added. 

"My  dear  child,  'while  there  is  life  there  is  hope,'  even 
for  the  aged.  And  you  are  young,  in  the  earliest  spring- 
time of  life.  With  a  change  of  scene,  pure  air,  good  food 
and  devoted  attention,  such  as  I  would  be  sure  to  give  you, 
day  and  night,  health  and  strength  would  return  to  you. 
And  you  have  said  that  you  will  give  me  the  legal  right  to 
devote  myself  to  you  in  this  way." 

"Yes,  I  said  so,  not  because  I  hope  to  get  well,  but  be- 
cause I  do  want  you  to  be  with  me  always  during  the  little 
time  I  have  to  live,  even  to  the  last  of  earth.  I  fear  this 
is  very  selfish  of  me,"  she  added  deprecatingly. 

"No,  no,  my  child,  there  is  no  selfishness  in  your  wish, 
and  it  shall  be  granted,"  he  said,  again  caressing  her  dark 
hair  with  his  hand. 

Observe,  my  reader,  that  there  was  a  touch  of  pity  and 
benevolence  in  his  words  and  manner  toward  this  failing 
girl;  but  there  was  no  tone  of  love  or  passion  in  either. 
Yet  she  did  not  perceive  the  absence  of  them. 

"You  are  so  good,  so  very  good  to  me.  God  blees  you !" 
gratefully  replied  the  girl. 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  arose  and  took  his  hat 
and  said: 

"I  will  go  out  now  and  fetch  a  minister  and  a  carriage 
for  you.  We  will  be  married  immediately,  and  then  I  will 
never  leave  you  again.  I  will  take  you  at  once  out  of  this 
miserable  place  and  carry  you,  by  easy  stages,  to  the  coun- 
try, among  the  mountains  and  the  forests,  where  you  can 
have  fresh  air  and  cool  breezes  and  breathe  the  health- 
giving  fragrance  of  the  pines.  I  will  be  back  here  within 
the  hour.'' 

She  put  up  her  hand  to  stop  him,  and  then  said  plead- 
ingly : 

"Oh,  no,  sir;  no,  please;  not  this  day — not  this  of  all 
days !" 

He  hesitated  in  perplexity. 

"But  why  not  this  day?  Why  not  this  hour?  The 
sooner  we  are  married  the  better,  I  think,"  he  said;  for 
looking  down  in  her  wan  face,  and  hearing  her  faint  voice, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  7 

he  thought  her  days — perhaps  her  hours — were  numbered ; 
and,  "if  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well  'twere 
done  quickly." 

"But  to-day  is  Good  Friday,"  said  Palma  gravely. 

«0h!» 

"And  we  could  not  be  married  on  Good  Friday,  you. 
know." 

"Ah!" 

"I  should  think  not,"  put  in  Mrs.  Pole. 

"But  why  not?  People  sometimes  marry  even  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  Why  not  then  on  Good  Friday,  I  should  like 
to  know?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"Sunday  is  a  day  of  resurrection  and  rejoicing,  when  it 
is  well  for  people  to  marry  and  to  christen  and  to  be  happy. 
But  Good  Friday  is  a  day  of  humiliation  and  mourning, 
and  I  don't  know  how  anybody  can  have  the  heart  to  marry 
and  be  happy  on  such  a  day;  no,  sir,  I  don't.  As  if  they 
could  not  wait  for  Easter,  which  is  so  near,  too.  And  when 
one  would  think  the  joyful  time  would  add  more  joy  even 
to  the  marriage,"  replied  the  woman. 

"What  do  you  say,  Palma?"  he  inquired. 

"I  cannot  marry  on  this  day  of  sorrow,  sir,"  she  an- 
swered gravely. 

"To-morrow,  then?" 

"  Oh,  no !  That  would  be  almost  as  bad.  But  on  Sun- 
day, after  the  morning  service,  if  you  will." 

"Very  well,  little  devotee.  It  shall  be  as  you  please.  On 
Sunday,  then,  between  the  morning  and  the  afternoon 
service,  I  will  claim  your  hand,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  how  vain!  Sunday  is  three  days  off  yet.  And  the 
doctor  says — • —  Now,  there,  sir!  You  needn't  look  at 
me  so  significant.  I  tell  you  she  knows  her  state  just  as 
well  as  I  do,  and  a  deal  better  than  you  do.  And  she  ain't 
a  bit  afeard,  nor  likewise  troubled  in  her  mind.  If  she 
was  like  other  folk  I'd  hold  my  tongue  about  her  illness, 
or  else,  maybe,  tell  her  flatt'ring  lies  to  cheer  her  up.  But 
there !  she  ain't  a  bit  like  other  folk,  no  way  you  can  fix 
her ;  and  so  I  speak  plain  before  her,  as  I  wouldn't  before 
others,"  said  the  woman  confidently. 

The  young  man  repeated  his  trite  truism:  "  'While 
there  is  life  there  is  hope,'  Mrs.  Pole." 

"Not  always,  sir.    You  don't  care  to  say  it.    It  ain't  so- 


8  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

in  this  case.  Here  is  life,  but  no  hope  on  this  side  of 
Jordan ;  not  one  bit.  And  she  knows  and  submits  to  the 
will  of  the  Lord.  Her  hope  is  beyond  the  river.  She  knows 
that  for  her  'to  die  is  gain.'  And  she  is  glad  to  go,  sir.  I 
heard  her  tell  the  parson  so  yesterday.  She  is  glad  to  go, 
I  tell  you,  sir,"  persisted  the  woman. 

But  then  the  fading  girl  spoke. 

"  Oh,  no,  nurse  !  Not  glad  to  go.  Resigned,  submissive, 
but  oh !  not  glad !"  she  cried  in  an  impassioned  tone.  "Not 
glad,  now  that  yon  are  here!"  she  added,  turning  her  dark 
eyes  on  the  young  man.  "I  would  like  to  live  now.  Oh, 
indeed  I  would,  if  the  Lord  were  willing." 

"Dear  little  Palma,  you  must  live!  You  shall  live!" 
murmured  Cleve  Stuart,  smoothing  her  hair  with  his  hand, 
and  speaking  from  the  pity,  not  from  the  love  of  his  heart, 
and  deceiving  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  spoke  in  all 
sincerity. 

"I  thank  and  bless  you!  I  know  I  need  not  die  if  you 
could  keep  me  alive,"  she  murmured  gratefully;  but  her 
voice  was  very  faint. 

"I  think  you  had  better  go  now,  sir.  I  do,  indeed.  All 
this  talk  lias  tired  her  so  much  she  is  almost  exhausted  and 
needs  rest,"  said  Mrs.  Pole. 

Stuart  took  up  his  hat,  but  Palma  held  out  her  hand  im- 
ploringly. 

"Oh,  don't  leave  me !  Stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  can. 
Please  do !"  she  pleaded. 

"I  would  stay  with  you  always  if  I  might,  dear  child," 
he  gently  replied,  drawing  a  chair  to  her  side,  sitting  down, 
and  taking  her  hand  tenderly  in  his  own  and  keeping  it 
there. 

"It's  all  wrong!  all  wrong!  all  wrong!"  Mrs.  Pole  re- 
marked, shaking  her  head. 

"  No,  nurse.  See !  I  can  lean  back  in  my  chair  and  close 
my  eyes  and  sink  to  sleep  so  contentedly  with  my  hand  in 
his,"  said  Palma,  smiling  placidly. 

"Well,  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  get  a  good  rest  before 
the  parson  comes,  anyhow,"  sighed  the  woman. 

"Is  the  minister  coming  here  to-day?"  inquired  the 
young  man. 

"Of  course  he  is.    He  comes  every  day.    But  there  was 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  9 

service  in  his  church  this  morning,  so  he  will  be  here  this 
afternoon." 

"Then  I  shall  submit  to  him  the  question  of  marriage  on 
Good  Friday,  and  try  to  persuade  him  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony before  he  leaves  the  house." 

"Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  have  some  motive  or  other  for 
the  very  strange  deed  you  want  to  do,  but  I  am  blessed  if 
I  can  guess  what  it  is.  Howsoever,  if  you  are  able  to  ex- 
plain your  reasons  to  the  minister's  satisfaction  and  get 
him  to  marry  you  to  this  dying  girl,  then  my  responsibility 
will  be  over,  and  I  wash  my  hands  of  it." 

"I  think  I  have  already  explained  my  reasons  with  suffi- 
cient clearness  and  candor  to  yourself.  I  have  told  you 
that  I  wish  to  wed  this  child  that  I  may  have  the  lawful 
right  to  have  her  under  my  immediate  personal  protection, 
to  take  her  away  from  this  miserable  place,  carry  her  to 
pure  mountain  air,  and  surround  her  with  comforts  and 
luxuries  that  may  save  or  prolong  her  life.  And  I  think 
these  are  good  and  sufficient  reasons  to  be  submitted  to  the 
minister  in  support  of  our  immediate  marriage,  even 
though  the  day  be  Good  Friday;  and  that  the  reverend 
gentleman  will  agree  with  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

But  Palma  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face — eyes  full  of  sacred 
love — and  said: 

"  No,  no,  he  would  not !  He  would  not,  indeed !  He 
holds  the  day  in  such  devout  reverence.  No,  nor  should 
he  sanction  the  ceremony  would  I  consent  to  it.  I  could 
not !  I  could  not  until  Easter." 

"Then,  at  least,  in  the  meantime  I  must  take  you  out 
of  this  unwholesome  place.  Mrs.  Pole  will  perhaps  go  with 
you,  and — we  will  be  married  on  Sunday,"  he  said. 

Palma  slightly  bent  her  head  in  silence.  She  was  show- 
ing signs  of  extreme  weariness.  Mrs.  Pole  came  and 
shifted  the  pillows  behind  her  back,  made  her  comfortable 
in  her  seat,  and  then  brought  her  a  glass  of  milk  from  the 
cupboard. 

When  she  had  drunk  it  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  with! 
a  deep  sigh,  closed  her  eyes  and  dropped  her  arms  by  her 
side  from  sheer  exhaustion. 

"Now  don't  speak  to  her  again  for  at  least  an  hour,  sir, 
please,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  as  she  went  to  wash  and  put  away 
the  empty  glass. 


10  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Cleve  Stuart  nodded  in  silence,  took  the  hand  of  the 
exhausted  girl  and  held  it  in  his  own. 

She  seemed  to  have  swooned  into  sleep,  so  still  she  lay, 
so  low  she  breathed. 

Mrs.  Pole  took  up  some  needlework  and  sat  at  a  little 
distance,  sewing. 

So  more  than  an  hour  passed. 

Day  was  declining.  The  setting  sun  sent  his  level  rays 
through  the  old  dormer  window,  glinting  on  the  group 
formed  by  the  sleeping  girl  in  the  old  armchair,  the  watch- 
ing young  man  seated  on  her  right,  and  the  sewing  woman 
on  the  left,  lighted  it  for  a  moment  and  then  sank  out  of 
sight.  The  shades  of  twilight  were  falling,  the  attic  room 
was  darkening. 

"I  won't  light  a  candle.  It  might  disturb  her,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Pole. 

"No,  don't,"  replied  Cleve  Stuart  in  a  low  voice. 

But  just  then  the  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  coming 
up  the  stairs. 

"It  is  the  parson,  and  now  I  suppose  I  must  light  the 
candle,"  said  the  woman,  rising  to  suit  the  action  to  the 
word. 

Then  Palma  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled,  murmuring 
softly : 

'Oh,  how  blessed  it  is  to  wake  and  find  you  here!" 

'Have  you  rested,  dear  child?"  inquired  Cleve  Stuart. 

'Benignly,"  she  murmured  in  a  dreamy  tone. 

'And  you  feel  better?" 

'Oh,  yes,  thank  and  bless  you.  You  have  done  me  so 
much  good  by  only  sitting  by  me  and  holding  my  hand 
while  I  slept  so  sweetly." 

"I  would  like  to  hold  your  hand  through  life,  dear 
child." 

A  rap  at  the  door  and  the  sudden  blazing  up  of  the 
lighted  candle  stopped  their  talk. 

Mrs.  Pole  set  the  candlestick  on  the  top  of  the  bureau 
and  went  and  admitted  the  minister — a  venerable  figure, 
tall,  thin,  broad-shouldered  and  rather  stooping,  with  a 
pale  face  and  white  hair  and  beard,  and  clothed,  of  course, 
in  clerical  black. 

Young  Cleve  Stuart  felt  a  sudden,  irresistible  impulse 
to  avoid  the  reverend  gentleman  and  the  religious  services. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  11 

He  stooped  and  whispered  hurriedly  to  Palma: 

"I  will  go  now,  dear  child,  and  leave  you  with  your 
minister/' 

Mrs.  Pole  placed  a  chair  beside  that  of  the  invalid  girl. 

Dr.  Hawley  seated  himself  beside  Palma  and  began  to 
speak  to  her. 

Mrs.  Pole  hastily  excused  herself  and  left  the  room  to 
run  downstairs  and  try  to  overtake  the  young  gentleman 
before  he  should  have  left  the  house.  She  ran  down  four 
pair  of  stairs  before  she  overtook  him  at  the  street  door. 

"  Sir,  sir  !  One  moment,  if  you  please  !  I  want  to  speak 
to  you !"  she  exclaimed,  almost  out  of  breath. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  what  you  wouldn't  let  me  tell  you 
in  her  hearing.  That  is,  that  the  doctor  says  how  she  may 
live  some  weeks  yet,  and  she  may  go  off  at  any  minute  if 
excited  or  fatigued.  And  so  I  wanted  to  warn  you,  sir, 
about  tiring  of  her  by  trying  to  take  her  out  in  the  country. 
I  think  you  had  better  make  her  as  comfortable  as  you 
can  in  her  own  room  up  there.  And  plenty  of  money  may 
do  much  even  there,  sir !  But  not  to  talk  to  her  too  much, 
or  even  talk  before  her  too  much  either,  as  you  did  to-day. 
That's  all." 

"Mrs.  Pole,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  wish  you  would 
'reck  your  own  read/  as  the  old  proverb  advises.  It  is  your 
conversation  that  depresses  and  discourages  her,  and  is 
enough  to  insure  her  death,  even  if  she  had  a  fair  chance 
of  life." 

"Oh,  sir!  sir!" 

"As  for  me,"  continued  Cleve  Stuart,  without  noticing 
the  woman's  deprecating  interruption,  "I  wish  to  get  her 
out  of  this  place  as  soon  as  I  can  do  so,  in  the.  only  way 
in  which  it  can  be  done,  by  making  her  my  wife.  Here  she 
has  no  chance  to  get  well.  Here  everything  is  against  her — 
foul  air,  loud  noise,  poor  food,  and  as  if  all  that  were  not 
enough  to  hurry  a  sick  girl  into  her  grave,  she  has  your 
constant  talk  of  her  death.  You  will  not  let  her  think  of 
life.  You  make  her  think  of  death  all  the  time." 

"That  ain't  so,  sir.  You  do  exaggerate  most  fearful. 
You  do,  indeed,  sir,  begging  your  pardon !  Which,  all  the 
same,  it  is  a  pity  she  wouldn't  talk  of  nothing  else.  She 
said  she  had  nothing  to  live  for.  She  said  she  wanted  to 


18  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

die.  She  loved  to  talk  about  Heaven  and  the  Lord  and  the 
angels." 

"Poor  Palma!  Poor,  dear  child!  Well,  Mrs.  Pole,  she 
has  got  something  else  to  talk  about  and  to  think  about 
now !  And  don't  you  try  to  change  the  new  current  of  her 
thoughts,  if  you  please !  'One  world  at  a  time/  Mrs.  Pole. 
And,  by  the  way,  I  had  nearly  forgotten !  I  am  glad  you 
followed  me  downstairs,  if  only  for  this,"  said  Cleve  Stuart, 
as  he  drew  his  portemonnaie  from  his  pocket  and  took  from 
it  a  banknote,  which  he  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  woman. 
"Get  what  she  needs  to  make  her  comfortable  here  for  the 
night.  I  will  see  her  very  early  in  the  morning.  Now 
have  you  anything  more  to  say  to  me,  Mrs.  Pole  ?" 

"No,  nothing  but  thanks,  sir,"  replied  the  woman,  who 
was  staring  at  the  note  in  her  hand,  which  represented  the 
largest  sum  of  money  she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life. 

"Good-evening,  then." 

"Good-evening,  sir." 

And  Cleve  Stuart  went  out  by  the  street  door,  which 
closed  itself  with  a  bang  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Pole  still  stood  staring  at  the  bank  bill. 

"Twenty  dollars!"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "Twenty 
dollars !  I  hope  none  of  them  other  tenants  seen  him  give 
it  to  me !  They're  allers  a-leaning  over  the  banisters 
a-watching  everybody  as  comes  and  goes  and  everything 
as  takes  place.  Lor5 !  I  hope  none  of  them  seen  him  give 
me  this.  I  should  be  afeard  to  sleep  with  it  in  the  house. 
I  know  the  grocery  man  round  the  corner  will  think  I  stole 
it  and  call  a  policeman  when  I  go  to  change  it.  I  know 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  get  tho  parson  to  change  it  for  me.  I'll 
tell  him  all  about  it.  But  now  I  do  wonder  what  this 
young  gentleman — who  is  a  tip-topper,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
— means  by  wanting  to  marry  this  poor,  dying  girl?  I'd 
give  ever  so  much  to  know.  What's  his  game  ?  For  a  game 
it  is.  I  know  that  much.  It  isn't  for  love.  He's  not  in 
love  with  her.  Lor',  no !  Who  could  be  in  love  with  such 
a  poor  wrack  as  she  is  ?  But  what  is  it,  then  ?" 

She  could  not  tell.  She  shook  her  head,  gave  up  the 
conundrum  and  went  upstairs. 

Meanwhile  Cleve  Stuart  had  passed  out  of  the  house  and 
into  the  squalid,  reeking  street  where  his  cab  ^<x*-  waiting 
for  him. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  13 

With  his  scented  handkerchief  held  to  his  face,  he  entered 
the  vehicle  and  gave  the  order: 

"Back!  and  drive  fast!" 

In  five  minutes  they  had  turned  out  of  the  fetid  street 
and  into  one  of  the  finest  thoroughfares  of  the  great  city, 
and  rolled  on  between  miles  of  magnificent  stores,  now 
brilliantly  illuminated;  so  nearly  do  squalor  and  splendor 
jostle  each  other  in  the  grand  metropolis. 

Cleve  Stuart  sat  back  on  his  seat,  grimly  reflecting  on 
the  scene  he  had  just  left. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  striking  the  seat  with  his 
clinched  fist,  "what  an  accursed  adventure  is  this  that  I 
am  on !  Why  did  I  ever  consent  to  it — why,  ye  gods  ?" 

Why,  indeed,  did  Cleve  Stuart,  the  haughtiest  and  most 
fastidious  man  in  the  city,  the  lion  of  the  clubs  and  the 
idol  of  the  drawing  rooms,  the  enevy  of  the  "dudes"  and 
the  admiration  of  the  "dudines,"  the  scion  of  a  historical 
race  who  had  been  illustrious  in  the  Old  World  for  centuries 
before  they  were  known  in  the  New — a  race  who  claimed 
kindred  with  the  royal  dynasty  of  that  name — why  did  the 
proudest,  handsomest,  most  elegant  and  most  accomplished 
descendant  of  such  a  race  seek  a  wife  in  the  person  of  a 
poor  young  sewing  girl,  who  was  fading  from  life  in  the 
attic  of  an  old  tenement  house  ? 

Was  it  from  misplaced  love? 

Not  at  all,  for  he  was  not  in  the  least  in  love  with  her. 

Was  it  from  any  obligation? 

No,  he  was  in  no  way  bound  to  her. 

From  charity? 

No,  for  charity  might  have  ministered  to  the  suffering 
girl's  needs  by  many  better  means  than  matrimony. 

From  a  sense  of  honor  ? 

No,  for  his  honor  was  in  no  way  involved. 

Was  it  to  make  atonement  for  any  wrong,  real  or  imagi- 
nary, done  by  him  or  any  of  his  kin  to  her  or  to  hers? 

No,  for  neither  he  nor  his  had  ever  wronged  either. 

Was  it  to  fulfil  the  conditions  of  some  eccentric  will? 

Not  at  all,  for  he  was  in  no  way  concerned  in  any  will, 
nor  did  he  ever  expect  to  be  so. 

Had  he  been  jilted  or  offended  by  his  sweetheart  or  be- 
trothed, and  did  he  wish  to  avenge  himself  by  marrying 


14  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

instantly  the  very  first  woman  who  could  be  induced  to 
accept  him? 

No,  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  was  in  "peace  and  good 
will"  with  all  the  world. 

What,  then,  was  the  motive  of  this  elegant  young  aristo- 
crat for  wishing  to  wed  the  poor,  dying  seamstress  ? 

It  would  be  easier  to  tell  why  she,  in  her  extremity, 
accepted  him. 

It  was  for  this  true  and  simple  reason:  that  she  loved 
him — loved  him  only  of  all  the  human  beings  on  earth; 
loved  with  all  her  soul,  and  had  so  loved  him  all  her  life. 
She  was  dying  for  his  presence — though  no  one  knew  it — 
when  he  came  to  see  her — and  to  save  her,  though  he  did 
not  hope  or  even  wish  to  do  so. 

Why,  then,  did  he  ask  to  wed  her  at  all  ? 


CHAPTER  II 

SOME  LIGHT  ON  THE  SUBJECT 

CLEVE  STUART  was  the  only  son  of  John  Stuart,  a  cotton 
planter  of  Mississippi,  who  had  married  late  in  life  Clara, 
daughter  of  Gen.  Cleve,  of  Rockcrest,  Virginia. 

Their  marriage  was  blessed  with  several  children,  all  of 
whom,  however,  except  the  eldest  and  only  son,  died  in 
infancy. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  the  seventeenth  year  of  Cleve's 
life  that  he  embarked  with  his  parents  on  the  ill-fated 
steamer  Lucy  Lee,  en  route  for  St.  Louis  and  Canada. 

That  boat,  it  is  well  known,  perished  by  an  explosion 
within  sight  of  her  landing.  Among  the  lost  was  the  wife 
of  John  Stuart,  who  was  himself  so  fatally  injured  that  he 
died  soon  after  his  removal  to  the  Planter's  Hotel,  having 
first  made  a  will  leaving  all  his  property  to  his  son,  and 
appointing  his  old  college  chum,  Judge  Barrn,  of  New 
York,  sole  guardian  of  the  heir,  trustee  of  the  estate,  and 
executor  of  the  will. 

The  judge,  called  by  telegraph,  came  as  soon  as  steam 
could  bring  him  to  the  bedside  of  his  dying  friend,  re- 
ceived his  last  words,  closed  his  eyes,  and  attended  to  hi" 
funeral. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  15 

When  the  last  rites  were  ended  the  jndge  returned  to 
New  York,  taking  his  ward  with  him. 

The  judge  and  his  wife  were  an  elderly  and  childless 
couple,  but  the  former  filled  his  time  with  law  and  politics, 
and  the  latter  devoted  hers  to  home,  church  and  charities. 
They  lived  in  a  pretty  suburban  villa,  fronting  on  East 
River  nearly  opposite  Randall's  Island. 

Mrs.  Barrn  received  the  youth  very  kindly,  and  tried  to 
make  him  happy. 

Cleve's  education  was  already  well  advanced,  but  as  he 
was  anxious  to  enter  Harvard  as  soon  as  possible,  Judge 
Barrn  engaged  a  master  of  arts  to  come  for  a  few  hours 
every  morning  to  prepare  the  student  for  the  university. 

His  surroundings  were  very  cheerful.  There  were  fine 
saddle  horses  and  carriage  horses  in  the  stables ;  there  were 
vehicles  of  every  kind,  from  the  light  sulky  to  the  large 
barouche;  there  were  rowboats  and  sailboats  in  the  boat- 
houses  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn ;  and  Cleve  had  the  freedom 
of  them  all  as  if  he  had  been  the  son  of  the  house.  In 
short,  all  that  was  possible  was  done  for  the  benefit  of  the 
unhappy  youth.  But  for  a  long  time  nothing  could  rouse 
him  from  the  deep  sorrow  of  his  terrible  bereavement. 

One  thing,  however,  interested  him,  through  sympathy. 

There  was  about  the  premises  a  little  dark-eyed,  dark- 
haired  child,  of  about  five  years  old,  who  seemed  to  belong 
to  nobody.  She  always  wore  a  short  white  frock,  with  a 
broad  black  sash  tied  around  her  waist,  and  black  shoes  and 
black  stockings.  She  never  entered  the  drawing-room  or 
the  dining-room,  but  she  went  about  all  the  other  parts  of 
the  house,  as  well  as  all  over  the  grounds,  'Tike  a  tame 
kitten." 

She  seemed  to  have  divined  or  discovered  the  cause  of 
Cleve  Stuart's  gloom.  She  would  stand  before  him,  with 
her  small  hands  folded  demurely  on  her  bosom  and  her 
dark  eyes  fixed  solemnly  on  his  face,  so  often,  that,  at 
last,  one  afternoon,  Cleve,  seated  on  a  rustic  bench  under  a 
tree  on  the  lawn,  and  seeing  her  in  her  frequent  attitude, 
called  out: 

"Come  here,  baby." 

She  came  promptly. 

He  took  her  upon  his  knees  and  inquired : 

"What  is  your  name?" 


16  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Palma,.  she  replied. 

"Palma?"  he  questioned. 

"  'Es,  Palma,  tauce  I  tome  Palm  Sunday." 

"  Oh !    Who  is  your  mother  ?» 

"My  mozer  is  an.  ainzel  in  heaven." 

"Oh!    Poor  little  girl!    Where  is  your  father?" 

"Wiz  mother,  him  too,"  replied  the  child,  without  re- 
moving her  grave  dark  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  youth. 

"Why  da  you  look  at  me  so,  Palma?" 

"Tauze  Ize  so  sorry  for  oo." 

"Oh!  You  know,  then,  that  I,  too,  have  lost  both  my 
dear  parents  ?" 

"  'Es,  I  know ;  bnt  if  oo  is  vezzy  dood  oo  will  fine  zem 
adain  in  heaven  wiz  ze  Lord,"  solemnly  said  the  child. 

"  'Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings'  " — began 
the  youth,  but  his  voice  failed  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  pressed  the  little  one  close  to  his  breast. 

"Don't  cwy.  I  love  oo,"  she  said,  taking  a  tiny  hand- 
kerchief out  of  a  tinier  pocket  and  beginning  to  wipe  his 
eyes. 

"If  you  love  me,  baby,  you  are  the  omy  one  in  the  world 
that  does — except  my  dog,"  he  said,  and  bent  his  head  and 
kissed  the  little,  dark,  upturned  face. 

Then  suddenly,  with  a  boy's  scorn  of  "sentimentality/' 
he  put  the  child  off  his  knees,  arose  and  began  to  saunter  on 
the  paths  of  the  lawn. 

She  followed  him  closely  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like 
a  little  poodle,  until  the  tea  bell  rang. 

Then  both  went  into  the  house.  He  turned  into  the 
dining  room.  She  disappeared. 

"Who  is  that  little  child,  dear  Mrs.  Barrn?"  inquired 
Cleve,  as  he  received  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  hand  of  his 
hostess. 

"Palma?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Hers  is  a  sad  story.  She  is  the  child  of  a  runaway 
match.  Her  father  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  North  of 
England  squire.  He  was  also  a  cornet  in  the  Tenth  Hus- 
sars. He  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful  housemaid  and  madly 
married  her.  He  was  cast  off  by  his  family  and  ostracized 
by  the  officers  of  his  regiment.  He  was  obliged  to  sell  out 
and  come  with  his  wife  to  this  country,  where  they  lived 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  17 

on  the  price  of  his  commission  as  long  as  the  money  lasted, 
hoping  that  his  father  might  relent  and  help  them ;  but  in 
vain.  When  the  money  was  gone  he  tried  to  get  something 
to  do,  but  equally  in  vain.  They  fell  from  grade  to  grade 
in  the  social  scale,  until  they  reached  the  low  tenement  in 
Rat  Lane  where  I  found  them." 

"It  is  the  foulest  part  of  the  city,"  put  in  the  judge. 

"This  was  last  fall,  when  typhoid  fever  was  raging 
through  all  that  district.  All  three,  father,  mother  and 
child,  were  down  with  the  fever.  The  father  died  first; 
then  the  mother.  The  child  recovered,  as  you  see.  The 
poor  woman  had  told  me  her  story.  After  she  passed  away, 
in  accordance  with  her  wishes,  I  wrote  to  Squire  Hay,  of 
Ha^more,  England,  and  announced  the  death  of  his  son 
and  daughter-in-law  and  described  the  destitute  condition 
of  his  grandchild.  In  the  meantime  I  brought  the  girl 
home  here  to  await  events.  I  also  brought  away  the  papers 
relating  to  the  marriage  of  the  parents  and  the  birth  and 
baptism  of  the  child,  in  case  the  grandfather  might  demand 
proofs  of  her  identity.  I  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble, 
for  in  about  a  month  I  got  a  letter  from  Squire  Hay,  in 
which  he  declared,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  would  have 
'nothing  to  do  with  the  housemaid's  brat/  " 

"Brute!"  ejaculated  the  judge. 

"So  here  she  has  remained  ever  since.  I  do  not  know 
what  we  shall  do  with  her;  but  there  is  time  enough  to 
think  about  that,  for  she  is  only  a  baby,"  concluded  Mrs. 
Barrn. 

From  this  day  the  youth  took  a  compassionate  interest  in 
the  child.  And  as  for  her,  she  was,  in  the  language  of  the 
household,  "devoted  to  that  boy." 

As  Cleve  gradually  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his 
bereavement  he  occupied  and  amused  himself  more  and 
more  with  the  child.  She  was  his  little  kitten,  his  pet 
bird,  his  favorite  toy,  and  he  was  very  good  to  her ;  but  yet, 
while  she  loved  and  admired  him  as  the  most  beautiful  and 
wonderful  creature  the  Lord  had  ever  made,  he  liked  her 
only  just  as  he  might  have  liked  a  kitten,  a  bird,  or  a  toy. 

Three  years  passed.  Cleve  Stuart,  who  had  studied  dili- 
gently under  his  private  tutor,  was  prepared  to  enter  college. 

Palma,  who  had  remained  with  her  protectors,  was  a 
pupil  in  the  nearest  primary  school. 


18  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

It  was  midsummer  again;  and  it  was  proposed  that 
Cleve  Stuart  should  enter  Harvard  as  soon  as  the  vacation 
was  over. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  young  man  changed  his  mind  and 
decided  to  go  to  Germany  and  enter  the  University  of 
Bonn. 

The  judge,  from  motives  of  patriotism,  and  Mrs.  Barrn, 
from  promptings  of  affection,  expostulated,  but  without 
influencing  the  youth's  decision,  and — as  he  was  within  a 
few  months  of  his  majority,  when  he  would  have  full  con- 
trol of  his  money — the  guardian  withdrew  his  opposition 
and  the  ward  prepared  for  his  voyage. 

"I  do  helieve  it  will  break  Palma's  heart.  She  has  done 
nothing  but  sob  ever  since  she  heard  Cleve  was  going 
away,"  said  Mrs.  Barrn  to  her  husband. 

"Oh,  well,  she  will  soon  get  over  it,"  replied  the  judge, 
carelessly. 

But  the  child  did  something  else  besides  eob.  She  fol- 
lowed the  young  man  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  weeping 
and  pleading. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Cleve,  don't  go!  Oh,  please  don't  go!"  until 
he  was  almost  out  of  patience  with  her,  and  but  for  pity 
would  have  turned  upon  her  in  angry  remonstrance. 

The  day  came  when  Cleve  Stuart  sailed  for  Europe.  And 
the  child  Palma  grieved  herself  into  a  fit  of  illness,  from 
which  she  only  recovered  in  time  to  re-enter  the  primary 
school  at  its  re-opening. 

Cleve  Stuart  had  intended  to  stay  but  four  years  abroad, 
but  he  stayed  seven.  After  his  college  course  was  com- 
pleted, he  began  the  tour,  not  only  of  Europe,  but  of  the 
Eastern  hemisphere  as  far  as  it  was  open  to  civilized 
travelers. 

At  the  end  of  seven  years  he  returned  from  Cairo  and 
took  up  his  abode  in  Paris,  where  he  best  liked  to  live. 
Here  he  spent  the  winter,  and  would  have  spent  the  spring, 
but  that  expected  remittances  did  not  arrive,  notwithstand- 
ing that  he  frequently  wrote  and  then  cabled  to  ask  why 
they  were  delayed.  At  length,  in  March,  when  his  funds 
were  growing  alarmingly  low,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
return  home. 

He  embarked  on  the  French  steamer  Leverie  from  Havre 
to  New  York. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  19 

On  his  homeward  voyage  he  met  his  fate  in  the  form  of 
the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen,  and  the  first 
one  whom  he  had  ever  loved — a  goddess  with  a  tall  and 
fully  developed  form,  perfect  features  and  complexion,  and 
golden  brown  hair,  and  amber  brown  eyes,  and  a  manner 
and  expression  that  were  simply  irresistible. 

With  the  gentleman  and  the  lady  both  it  was  a  case  of 
fascination  at  first  sight.  Each  seemed  to  lose  sight  of  all 
their  fellow  passengers  in  their  mutual  absorption. 

With  the  air,  manner  and  costume  of  a  wealthy  woman 
of  fashion,  she  was  simply  an  accomplished  and  well  remu- 
nerated governess  who  was  traveling  with  a  rich  family,  in 
charge  of  their  girls.  She  was,  besides,  several  years  older 
than  her  lover.  But  Cleve  Stuart  did  not  care  for  all  that. 

To  him  she  was  a  princess,  a  goddess,  and  he  metaphor- 
ically lay  at  her  feet  and  lifted  adoring  and  worshiping 
eyes  to  her  beauty  and  divinity. 

By  the  time  the  Levcrie  had  half  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
Cleve  Stuart  and  Lamia  Leegh  were  engaged  to  be  married 
and  much  of  their  lives  planned  out. 

They  were  to  be  united  as  soon  as  convenient  after  reach- 
ing New  York. 

Then  they  were  to  go  first  to  Niagara  and  the  Thousand 
Islands,  and  then  to  divide  their  time  between  the  moun- 
tains, the  seaside  and  the  islands  of  the  North. 

They  were  to  return  to  New  York  in  the  autumn,  proceed 
to  Washington  in  the  winter,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the 
new  year  go  to  the  South  and  settle  down  on  his  beautiful 
plantation  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi. 

This  last  item  in  the  program  was  what  pleased  the  lady 
best.  To  be  the  mistress  of  a  great  Southern  plantation, 
was,  in  her  estimation,  quite  equal  to  being  sovereign  of  a 
little  German  grand-duchy. 

Oh,  dear ! 

They  both  certainly  knew  that  within  the  last  seven  years 
civil  war  had  shaken  the  country  to  its  foundation;  but 
neither  suspected  how  it  had  ruined  the  plantations  of  the 
South. 

When  the  steamer  reached  New  York  the  lovers  tempo- 
rarily parted. 

Lamia  Leegh  went  with  her  employers  to  their  splendid 
mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue. 


SO  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Cleve  Stuart  went  to  a  hotel. 

Within  a  few  hours,  by  anxious  inquiries,  he  learned  the 
changes  wrought  by  the  war.  The  emancipation  and  the 
exodus  had  left  his  acres  uncultivated  for  years,  so  that  no 
revenue  had  come  from  them.  The  remittances  that  had 
been  sent  out  to  him  during  that  time  had  been  spared  from 
his  late  guardian's  own  income,  though  the  recipient  of 
them  never  suspected  the  fact. 

These  remittances  had  only  ceased  when  the  old  judge 
suddenly  left  this  world  to  join  his  wife,  who  had  gone  just 
before  him  to  the  Better  Land. 

He  could  get  no  news  of  Palma  Hay,  who,  he  remem- 
bered, would,  if  she  should  live,  be  now  about  fifteen  years 
of  age. 

It  was  a  great  shock  suddenly  to  find  himself  reduced  to 
poverty.  He  had  scarcely  courage  to  go  and  tell  his  be- 
trothed of  their  misfortune. 

He  went,  however ;  found  her  in  her  employer's  house,  as 
handsomely  dressed  and  as  luxuriously  lodged  as  if  she  had 
been  the  princess  she  looked. 

He  told  her  all,  and  then  added : 

"It  will  take  time,  labor  and  a  fortune  to  restore  the 
ruined  plantation;  to  rebuild  the  houses,  mills  and  barns 
burned  down  by  the  soldiers;  and  to  reclaim  the  land  and 
bring  it  under  cultivation.  And  I  cannot  hope  to  do  this 
at  present.  Yet  I  am  not  quite  penniless.  I  have  a  few 
hundred  dollars;  and  I  mean  to  seek  employment.  Also,  I 
shall  study  law.  I  think  I  should  do  well  as  a  barrister. 
And  you,  my  queen,  would  be  my  greatest  inspiration  to 
effort.  Lamia,  I  love  you  so  entirely !  Have  you  the  cour- 
age to  marry  a  poor  man?"  he  asked,  or  rather  prayed, 
with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes  and  tone. 

She  hesitated  long  before  she  answered,  though  he  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  silent  beseeching.  Then  at 
length  she  said,  with  deliberation,  and  in  a  cool  tone,  with 
studied  words : 

"No,  Cleve,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  do  the  man  I  love 
so  great  a  wrong.  Neither  you  nor  I  could  bear  poverty 
for  a  day.  We  both  have  refined,  elegant  and  fastidious 
tastes.  We  love  ease,  splendor  and  luxury.  We  must  wait 
for  fortune  to  bestow  wealth  before  we  can  think  of  mar- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  81 

He  looked  at  her  in  pain  and  surprise.  Her  words  and 
manner  shocked  and  wounded  him.  He  doubted  her  love 
and  suspected  her  motives.  And  yet  he  loved  her — or 
thought  he  loved  her — so  much  that  he  could  not  yield  his 
point.  He  pleaded,  argued,  persevered  for  a  long  time,  but 
to  no  purpose.  She  was  as  firm  as  a  rock  in  her  decision. 

"At  least — oh,  Heaven  !  you  will  let  me  see  you  often,  or 
I  shall  go  mad !"  he  cried. 

"You  may  see  me  every  day,  if  you  like.  Why  not?"  she 
answered. 

With  that  privilege  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 

He  did  see  her  every  evening  in  the  week>  and  he  went 
to  the  park  with  her  on  Saturdays,  and  to  church  with  her 
on  Sundays.  And  so  some  weeks  passed. 

On  one  Thursday  afternoon,  about  the  middle  of  April, 
and  some  six  weeks  after  their  arrival  in  New  York,  when 
he  took  her,  as  usual,  to  Central  Park,  she  drew  him  to  a 
secluded  part  of  the  grounds,  where  they  sat  down  together 
on  a  bench. 

She  glanced  right  and  left  and  all  around  to  assure  her- 
self that  no  one,  not  even  a  park  policeman,  was  in  hearing, 
and  then  she  dropped  her  voice,  and  said : 

"You  remember  the  little  girl  Palm  a,  whose  story  you 
told  me  that  night  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer?" 

"Yes;  of  course!  What  of  her?"  inquired  the  young 
man  in  surprise. 

"I  have  news  of  her!" 

'Of  Palma!" 

'Yes,  certainly." 
'You?" 
'Why,  yes." 

'How?    When?    Where?" 

'By  the  merest  accident,  the  chance  visit  of  a  lady  con- 
nected with  the  Children's  Friends'  Society.  She  men- 
tioned the  case  of  Palma  Hay  as  the  most  interesting  that 
had  ever  come  under  her  notice." 

"Where  is  the  poor  child  now?" 

"Wait,  Cleve.  Hasten  slowly.  She  told  her  story  just 
as  you  told  it,  up  to  the  time  of  the  death  of  Judge  Barrn." 

"Yes;  and  then?" 

"Palma  was  left  homeless  and  destitute  by  the  loss  of 
her  last  protector.  The  death  of  the  judge  had  been  80 


22  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

sudden  that  no  provision  had  been  made  for  his  young 
protegee,  who  had  no  legal  claim  to  any  of  the  little  prop- 
erty he  left,  which  was  very  little  at  the  last,  because  the 
judge  had  been  extravagant  in  his  charities  as  well  as  in  his 
style  of  living." 

"Oh,  I  know!  I  know!"  said  Cleve,  who  remembered 
the  remittances  sent  to  him  year  after  year  by  his  old 
friend,  and  which  the  young  man  supposed  to  be  from  the 
revenues  of  his  plantation,  when,  in  fact,  they  came  from 
the  old  judge's  own  pocket.  "Yes,  I  know;  but  the  child? 
What  of  the  child?" 

"She  is  not  quite  a  child  now ;  she  must  be  nearly  sixteen 
years  of  age.  Well,  when  the  establishment  at  Harlem  was 
broken  up,  and  the  servants  were  all  discharged,  the  young 
girl,  having  no  place  to  go,  was  taken  home  by  the  laun- 
dress, who  had  rooms  in  a  tenement  house  near  Hester 
Street.  This  woman,  Mrs.  Pole,  got  work  for  the  girl  to 
do,  and  the  latter  sewed  day  and  night  until,  as  the  woman 
told  our  visitor,  her  heart  broke  and  her  health  failed.  The 
doctors  say  she  cannot  live  a  week." 

"Poor  girl!  Oh,  poor,  dear,  tender  little  Palma!  We 
must  go  to  see  her  to-morrow,  Lamia,  and  do  all  we  can  to 
smooth  her  passage  to  the  grave !"  exclaimed  Cleve  Stuart, 
in  a  sudden  burst  of  pity. 

"You  must,  but  not  I." 

"Why  not  you?" 

"Because  it  would  do  the  dying  girl  no  good  to  see  an 
entirely  new  face  beside  yours.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I 
think,  Cleve  ?" 

"What,  my  queen?" 

"I  think  the  girl  learned  your  arrival  in  some  way,  and 
has  been  hoping  and  expecting  and  pining  to  see  her  old 
friend." 

"Impossible,  Lamia;  the  child  has  forgotten  me  long 
ago." 

"I  don't  know.  It  may  be  only  a  coincidence;  but  the 
woman,  Pole,  said  that  her  health  began  to  fail  about  six 
weeks  ago.  That  was  about  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  the 
Leverie;  also,  that  her  malady  began  with  a  strange,  eager, 
expectant  look,  as  if  she  were  watching  and  longing  for  the 
sight  of  some  one,  until  hope  died,  appetite  and  sleep  failed, 
and  health  and  strength  succumbed." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  23 

"All  fancy,  my  queen,  all  fancy.  The  poor  girl  is  in  a 
decline  from  physical  causes,  not  mental  nor  moral.  I  will 
go  and  see  her  to-morrow.  Poor  little  Palma  !" 

"I  dare  say  you  are  right,  Cleve,"  said  Miss  Leegh. 
Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  subject,  she  exclaimed : 

"Cleve,  I  have  something  else  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it,  my  ladylove?" 

"I  think  that  fortune  may  at  last  smile  on  us — that  is,  if 
you  have  courage  and  address  to  court  her  favor." 

"Lamia! — love! — tell  me  what  you  mean!"  he  eagerly 
demanded. 

"  Cleve,  what  would  you  do  to  insure  our  wealth  and  our 
union  within  a  year  from  this  time?"  she  inquired,  earn- 
estly looking  him  in  the  eyes. 

"Do!  What  would  I  do?  Anything '.—anything  under 
the  sun  that  it  was  possible  for  me  to  do — except  to  commit 
a  crime,"  he  answered,  excitedly,  returning  her  gaze  with 
an  anxiously  inquiring  look. 

"Crime  would  not  be  possible  to  you.  Besides,  there  is- 
no  question  of  crime.  But — would  you  enact  a  social 
solecism,  a  folly,  for  my  sake?"  she  gravely  demanded, 
without  taking  her  eyes  from  his. 

"A  hundred  thousand  follies!  Unnumbered  and  in- 
numerable follies,  to  insure  our  marriage  within  a  given 
time !"  he  exclaimed,  in  agitation. 

She  smiled,  turned  her  eyes  "off  guard,"  and  answered, 
coolly : 

"I  shall  only  ask  you  to  enact  one." 

"It  is  done!"  he  cried. 

"But  it  will  be  trying  to  you." 

"I  do  not  care!" 

"It  will  put  you  in  a  false  position  for  a  while." 

"Let  it!" 

"It  will  make  you  look  ridiculous." 

"Let  it!" 

"Well,  then,  I  will  put  your  love  for  me  to  the  severest 
test  I  know." 

"Put  it  to  that  test  at  once !    Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do." 

"If  you  reallv  love  me " 

"Yes!  yes!    Weil?" 

"Marry  Palma  Hay  at  once!" 


24  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

The  young  man  gasped  for  breath,  and  stared  at  the 
speaker. 

"You  would  ask  me  'Why  ?'  I  suppose,  if  your  tongue  did 
not  cleave  to  the  roof  of  your  mouth.  I  will  consider  the 
question  put  to  me,  and  answer  it.  This  is  why " 

And  she  placed  a  printed  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  FIERY  ORDEAL 

CLEVE  STUART,  still  shocked,  perplexed  and  wondering, 
received  the  printed  slip  of  paper  from  the  hands  of  Lamia 
Leegh,  and  gazed  at  it  in  silence.  It  was  a  short  advertise- 
ment, cut  from  the  columns  of  a  daily  paper,  and  read  as 
follows : 

"NEXT  OF  KIN. — If  this  should  meet  the  eyes  of  James 
Jordan  Hay,  third  son  of  the  late  John  Haywood  Hay,  of 
Haymore,  Yorkshire,  England,  he  is  requested  to  communi- 
cate immediately  with  the  undersigned,  when  he  will  hear 
something  to  his  advantage.  Walling  &  Walling,  Attor- 
neys-at-Law,  Judiciary  Buildings,  111  Star  Street." 

"Where  did  you  get  this?"  inquired  Cleve  Stuart,  look- 
ing up  from  the  slip. 

"I  cut  it  from  this  morning's  Trumpeter,  Cleve.  Are 
you  still  dazed?  Do  you  not  understand?  This  adver- 
tisement refers  to  the  father  of  that  poor  Palma  whose 
story  you  told  me  on  the  steamer,"  said  Lamia,  signifi- 
cantly. 

"Yes,  I  see ;  but  the  man  has  been  dead  a  dozen  years  or 
more,"  replied  the  young  man,  still  troubled  and  confused 
in  his  mind  as  by  the  perception  of  an  impending,  irresisti- 
ble temptation. 

"Yes;  James  Jordan  Hay  is  dead,  sure  enough ;  but — his 
only  child  is  living — just  now — she  may  not  live  many 
days,  she  cannot — and  she  is  the  heiress,  in  right  of  her 
deceased  father,  to  Haymore  Hall,  and  to  personal  prop- 
erty worth  three  times  as  much  as  the  real  estate,"  whis- 
pered Lamia,  glancing  around  and  dropping  her  voice,  lest 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  25 

the  very  leaves  of  the  trees  should  hear  and  report  her 
words. 

"And  she  is  dying  of  disease  and  privation  in  the  attic  of 
a  tenement  house  !"  breathed  young  Stuart,  with  a  shudder. 

"Yes." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this  that  you  have  told  me?"  he 
next  inquired. 

"Fortune  favored  me.  She  twined  a  golden  chain  of 
fairest  fate.  First  of  all,  as  it  happens,  I  myself  am  a 
distant  relation  of  the  Hays.  So  when  you  told  me  the 
story  of  the  young  officer  who  gave  'all  for  love,'  and 
thought  'the  world  well  lost/  I  became  so  much  interested 
in  it  that  I  remembered  every  item  and  circumstance ?' 

"You  never  told  me  you  were  related  to  that  family/* 
Cleve  interrupted. 

"Why  should  I?  The  relationship  was  so  very  distant. 
Besides,  when  was  I  ever  given  to  talking  of  myself?'* 
demanded  the  lady. 

" Never,  my  queen  !  Truly,  never !  I  beg  your  pardon. 
Pray  go  on,"  said  the  young  man,  penitently, 

"Secondly,  as  the  sermonizers  sa}^,  or  the  second  strand 
in  the  three-plied  cord  of  destiny,  was  the  chance  call  of  the 
district  visitor,  and  her  description  of  her  last  discovered 
and  most  interesting  protegee,  in  which  I  recognized  your 
little  friend  Palma." 

"And,  dearest,  you  never  told  me  until  to-day  that  you 
had  a  clew  to  her  abode." 

"Oh,  thou  unreasonable  Cleve!  I  only  learned  the  facts 
last  night,  and  have  not  seen  you  since  until  now." 

"Very  true!  I  am  a  captious  fool!  Pray,  pardon  me, 
and  proceed." 

"The  third  strand  in  the  golden  cord  of  fate  was  found 
H  the  advertisement  which  you  have  just  read.  I  saw  it 
in  the  Trumpeter  this  morning;  recognized  in  the  man. 
wanted  the  deceased  father  of  poor  little  Palma,  and  moral- 
ised over  the  fact  of  the  heiress  of  millions  dying  in  the 
attic  of  a  tenement.  This,  you  know,  being  Holy  Thurs- 
day, is  a  holiday  of  obligation  with  my  ritualistic  and  high 
church  patron.  So  I  did  not  keep  school ;  but  put  on  my 
bonnet,  took  a  cab,  and,  on  the  strength  of  my  relationship 
to  the  Hays,  of  Yorkshire,  I  called  on  Messrs.  Walling  & 
Walling  at  their  office  to  find  out  what  my  late  cousin, 


26  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

James  Jordan  Hay,  was  wanted  for.  I  was  detained  in  the 
anteroom,  or  outer  office,  so  long,  that  at  length  I  took  a 
blank  card  from  the  rack  over  the  mantelpiece  and  wrote 
my  name,  'Lamia  Hay  Leegh/  " 

"I  never  knew  you  had  a  middle  name,"  young  Stuart 
remarked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have,  and  it  is  Hay;  but  I  dropped  it  because 
it  spoiled  the  pretty  euphonism  of  the  alliteration — Lamia 
Leegh.  However,  I  put  the  Hay  in  this  morning,  thinking 
that  it  would  help  me  to  obtain  a  speedy  interview.  And  it 
did.  In  five  minutes  after  I  had  sent  in  my  card,  I  was 
ushered  into  the  inner  office,  and  received  by  the  senior 
partner  of  the  firm,  a  tall,  portly,  bald-headed,  dignified 
man,  who  might  have  been  a  grand  duke,  only  that  grand 
dukes  are  too  often  small  and  insignificant  looking  men. 
Oh,  I  must  not  ramble  on  in  this  way !"  suddenly  said  the 
lady. 

"No,  dear;  though  your  'rambling5  is  as  musical  as  the 
warbling  of  the  nightingale,  I  must  beseech  you  to  come  to 
the  point.  Never  mind  the  bald-headed  lawyer,"  put  in 
Cleve  Stuart. 

"Then  I'll  hurry  on :  He  gave  me  a  chair.  I  sat  down, 
and  told  him  I  was  a  connection  of  the  family,  and  then 
begged  him  that  he  give  me  information  regarding  the  ad- 
vertisement. He  told  me  that  the  late  Squire  of  Haymore 
had  three  sons.  The  eldest,  Collin,  had  been  thrown  from 
his  horse  while  hunting,  and  instantly  killed.  He  had  died 
unmarried.  His  second  son,  Cuthbert,  was  at  that  time  in 
California.  A  messenger  was  sent  out  in  quest  of  him,  but 
returned  with  the  news  that  he,  too,  had  ceased  to  live,  hav- 
ing fallen  a  victim  to  a  malignant  fever,  then  prevailing  in 
San  Francisco.  There  remained  but  the  youngest  son, 
James  Jordan,  who  had  dishonored  his  name  by  a  low  mar- 
riage, and  had  been  discarded  by  his  father.  About  a 
month  since  the  old  squire  had  died  suddenly  of  apoplexy, 
and  had  left  no  will.  Haymore  had  a  rent  roll  of  eight 
thousand  a  year,  and  must  revert  to  the  crown  unless  the 
heir  could  be  discovered.  Then  Mr.  Walling  asked  me  if  I 
could  give  him  any  information  concerning  the  whereabouts 
of  Mr.  James  Jordan  Hay.  I  told  him  that  I  was  sure  the 
missing  man  was  not  in  New  York,  but  had  not  the  re- 
motest idea  where  he  might  be." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  27 

"Lamia ! — my  dear !"  exclaimed  young  Stuart,  troubled 
by  this  subterfuge  and  prevarication. 

"  "Well,  I  told  him  'the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  noth- 
ing but  the  truth,'  as  the  law  directs.  I  was  sure  he  was 
not  in  New  York,  was  I  not  ?  And  I  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  where  he  might  be.  How  could  I  ?  I  could  not  know 
whether  the  poor  departed  fellow  was  in  heaven  or  in — in 
the  other  place.  No.  I  told  him  that  my  cousin,  James 
Jordan  Hay,  had  left  New  York  several  years  ago,  and  had 
never  returned,  and  that  I  did  not  know  whither  he  had 
gone,  as  I  had  heard  nothing  from  him  since  his  departure. 
So  the  interview  ended,  unsatisfactorily  on  the  lawyer's 
side,  certainly." 

"But,  Lamia — dear  Lamia — why  did  you  mislead  him?" 

"  For  3rour  sake,  Cleve.  Oh,  my  dear !  don't  you  under- 
stand? I  was  so  quick  to  see  your  interests,  and  to  guard 
them.  These  lawyers  must  not  know  of  the  existence  of 
this  heiress  until  you  have  made  her  and  her  fortune  your 
own.  Nor  must  she  know  of  her  accession  to  wealth  until 
she  is  your  wife.  She " 

But  the  young  man  had  started  from  the  side  of  his 
companion,  and  was  striding  up  and  down  the  flagged  walk. 
He  met  a  policeman,  who,  attracted  by  his  wild  manner, 
inquired : 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Go  to  the No,  there  is  nothing  the  matter,"  con- 
cluded young  Stuart,  when  he  had  suddenly  checked  him- 
self in  his  rude  profanity.  Then  he  turned  and  went  and 
sat  down  beside  his  companion.  His  heart  and  brain  were 
in  a  whirl. 

"What  in  the  world  ails  you,  Cleve?  You  look  and  act 
like  a  madman.  What  is  it?"  inquired  Lamia,  although 
she  knew  well  enough. 

"It  is  this  horrible "  and  his  voice  broke  down. 

"Why  should  you  call  it  horrible?  Now  do,  dear,  be 
rational,  and  not  fanatical.  See  here,  Cleve " 

"I  only  see  that  I  am  capable  of  being  a  scoundrel, 
Lamia,  and  not  worthy  of  your  notice,  or  of  anybody's !" 
he  burst  forth,  passionately. 

"Cleve!"  she  exclaimed. 

"It  is  true!  true!" 

"You  must  not  use  such  language  in  my  presence." 


88  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"I  am  not  worthy  to  speak  in  your  presence !" 

"Cleve !  you  do  not  love  me !" 

"Not  love  you ?    Oh,  Heaven !" 

"Then,  if  you  do,  pray,  pray  try  to  be  calm  and  cool  and 
reasonable,  and  listen  to  me.  Will  you?"  she  cooed  and 
coaxed,  caressing  him  with  her  soft  hands. 

"I  have  no  choice  but  to  hear  and  obey,"  he  answered,  in 
a  tone  made  tragic  by  the  conflict  in  his  soul. 

"See  here,  then.  By  the  plan  I  propose  there  will  be  no 
harm  done  to  anyone — least  of  all  to  the  poor  girl.  She 
loves  you  with  a  foolish,  fanatical  affection  that  is  killing 
her  because  it  is  not  returned.  She  adored  you  in  your 
youth  and  in  her  own.  infancy.  She  grew  ill,  almost  unto 
death,  when  you  went  to  Europe,  as  the  wife  of  your  guar- 
dian wrote  you.  She  waited  and  hoped  long  years  for  your 
return,  until  she  grew  from  childhood  almost  to  woman- 
hood. When  she  lost  her  benefactors,  and  was  reduced  to 
live  in  the  attic  of  a  tenement  house,  and  work  for  her 
bread,  she  bore  up  bravely,  still  waiting  and  hoping  for 
your  return.  You  were  the  fairy  prince  of  her  childish 
fancy  who  was  to  bring  her  all  things  fair,  and,  most  of  all, 
love.  But  when  at  last  she  saw  the  watched-for  ship  tele- 
graphed, the  waited-for  name  heralded  in  the  papers,  and 
when  she  watched  and  waited  day  after  day  in  vain,  until 
her  heart  grew  'sick'  with  'hope  deferred/  her  health  and 
strength  broke  down,  and  a  trifling  cold  developed  into  a 
fatal  disease." 

"Poor  child  !    Poor  child  !"  groaned  the  young  man. 

"Now,  listen.  There  is  not  a  hope  of  her  recovery.  You 
have  not  the  power  to  heal  her  malady,  but  you  may  make 
her  happier  than  she  has  ever  been  in  her  life;  and  you  may 
prolong  her  existence.  Will  you  have  done  her  any  harm  ? 
Surely  not.  Nor  is  there  anyone  else  whom  you  would 
wrong  by  this  plan?  There  is  no  other  heir  alter  her.  She 
is  the  last  of  the  Hays,  of  Haymore.  If  she  die  unmarried, 
the  whole  estate,  real  and  personal,  will  go  to  the  crown. 
Now,  what  does  the  Queen  of  England  want  with  that  ?  If 
you  should  marry  her,  on  her  death  all  her  vast  personal 
property  would  become  your  own,  though  the  real  estate 
might  still,  on  her  death,  go  to  the  crown.  Come,  Cleve, 
do  not  be  fanatical.  Marry  this  poor  dying  girl,  and  make 
her  as  happy  as  an  angel  for  the  few  remaining  days  or 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  29 

weeks  of  her  life,  and  then  receive  your  reward  by  enjoying 
her  wealth  all  the  rest  of  your  days  and  mine — mine, 
Cleve !"  And  she  placed  her  soft  hand  in  his  and  gazed  up 
into  his  eyes. 

A  fierce  struggle  was  going  on  in  his  heart.  This  was  the 
first  great  temptation  he  had  ever  experienced,  and  she  was 
his  tempter,  and  she  possessed  great  power  over  him.  Yet 
she  did  not  conquer  his  scruples  easily  She  had  to  use  all 
her  arts,  blandishments  and  sophistries  persistently  for 
hours  before  she  could  win  from  his  shocked  moral  sense 
even  a  reluctant  promise  to  think  over  her  plan. 

Then,  as  it  was  very  late,  she  arose  to  leave  the  park. 
And  with  a  deep  sigh — a  sigh  given  to  his  departing  honor 
— he  stood  up  and  offered  her  his  arm. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached  the  brown- 
stone  mansion  where  the  Vansitarts — Lamia's  employers — 
lived,  and  which  was  but  a  short  distance  from  the  park. 

At  the  door  they  paused  to  say  good-night. 

"You  will  be  sure  to  go  to  see  the  girl  to-morrow?"  she 
inquired,  uneasily. 

"Yes;  in  any  case  I  will  be  sure  to  go  and  see  her,"  he 
answered,  wearily. 

"And  you  will  come  here  and  let  me  know  the  result?" 

"That  depends,  Lamia,  If  I  should  let  this  black  temp- 
tation pass,  then  I  will  return  to  you.  If  I  should  yield 
to  it — if  I  should  find  excuse  in  my  heart  and  conscience  to 
marry  this  poor  girl,  from  whatever  motive — I  must 
thenceforth  devote  myself  to  her  exclusively." 

"That  is  understood,"  assented  the  lady. 

"And,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances,  you  and  I  must 
never  meet,  or  even  correspond,  during  the  life  of  Palma, 
whether  that  life  be  short  or  long.  We  must  be  strangers/' 

"I  do  not  see  the  necessity  for  that." 

"You  will  see  it  if  you  reflect  upon  it,"  he  gloomily 
replied ;  and  then  he  said  :  "Good-night,"  and  turned  away 
from  the  house  and  walked  on  toward  his  hotel,  his  soul 
darkened  by  prophetic  remorse,  for  an  uncommitted  sin, 
and  disturbed  by  profound  resentment  against  the  beauti- 
ful and  passionately  beloved  woman  who  was  luring  him 
on  with  the  power  of  destiny.  And  in  this  mood  he  entered 
his  apartment  and  retired  to  bed,  but  scarcely  to  sleep. 

The  next  day  Cleve  Stuart  took  a  cab  and  started  on  his 


30  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

quest  down  Broadway ;  across  to  the  Bowery ;  thence  into  a 
labyrinth  or  tangle  of  narrow,  crowded  and  filthy  bystreets, 
lanes  and  alleys,  until  he  reached  the  tall,  six-storied  old 
tenement  in  the  attic  of  which  Palma  Hay,  the  heiress  of 
millions,  lay  dying  of  sickness  less  than  of  privation. 

Leaving  the  cab  and  the  astonished  cabman — who  had 
never  found  himself  in  such  a  place  before — Cleve  Stuart 
entered  a  very  broad  and  very  dirty  hall,  and  went  up  a 
broad  and  dirty  flight  of  stairs.  Nobody  had  admitted 
him,  and  nobody  had  hindered  him;  only  some  heads 
peeped  through  doors  or  over  banisters  to  see  who  he  was. 
There  were  smells  of  suds  and  washing,  and  smells  of  cook- 
ing— boiled  bacon  and  cabbage,  and  fried  sausages — smells 
savory  and  unsavory — coming  from  the  various  rooms 
opening  on  the  passageways  of  every  floor  as  he  went  up. 
The  noise  of  a  quarrel  came  from  one  apartment ;  the  sound 
of  merriment  from  another;  and  the  laughter  of  children 
from  still  another.  As  he  went  up  from  floor  to  floor  the 
steps  were  narrower,  and  also  cleaner,  as  if  the  dirt  from 
the  streets  had  been  gradually  shaken  off  the  feet  of  the 
passengers. 

On  the  attic  floor  a  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  was 
open,  and  in  it  was  seated  an  old  man  making  wooden  pegs. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  there  is  a  person  here  of  the  name 
of  Pole?"  Cleve  inquired  of  this  man. 

"In  there,  along  o'  the  sick  gal,"  replied  the  whittler, 
pausing  a  moment  to  point  the  blade  of  his  penknife  to  the 
room  opposite. 

The  door  of  this  apartment  was  closed,  but,  at  Cleve's 
knock,  it  was  opened  by  a  very  tall,  thin  woman,  with  a 
sallow  face,  iron-gray  hair,  and  clothed  in  a  rusty  black 
gown. 

The  young  man  instantly  recognized  the  woman  as  a 
sometime  servant  of  the  late  judge  and  Mrs.  Barrn.  and 
was  simultaneously  recognized  by  her — and  by  some  one 
else  also,  it  seemed,  for  a  low  cry  of  joy  came  from  the 
inside  of  the  room,  but  was  half  drowned  in  the  noisy  wel- 
come of  the  woman. 

"Lord  sakes,  Mr.  Cleve,  is  it  yourself?  And  how  you 
have  growed,  and  what  a  mustache !" 

"So  you  remember  me,  Mrs.  Pole." 

"Of  course,  and  why  wouldn't  I?    Let  alone  the  foties 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  31 

you  sent  to  the  madam  regular  every  year  on  your  birthday. 
But  that  mustache  is  growed  since  the  last,  which  was  bare  ! 
They're  both  gone  to  glory,  sir;  both  the  old  madam  and 
the  judge,  as  I  reckon  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Cleve,  with  a  sigh — "I  know." 

"But  she  have  kept  all  the  foties,"  added  the  woman. 

It  was  needless  to  tell  Cleve  Stuart  who  "she"  was.  With 
a  pang  of  conscience  he  inquired : 

"Where  is  she?    I  have  come  to  see  her." 

"  Oh !  come  in,  sir.  She  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you,  the 
darling !  She  has  been  looking  for  you  ever  since  she  heard 
talk  of  your  ship  a-coming  in." 

"How  is  she?"  whispered  the  young  man. 

The  woman  shook  her  head  and  muttered : 

"Don't  ask  me,  sir,  please;  but  she's  ready  to  go.  Yes, 
she's  ready  to  go  !" 

And  then  Mrs.  Pole  led  the  way  into  the  poor  but  clean 
attic  chamber,  described  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  story. 

And  there,  propped  up  by  pillows  in  the  rocking-chair 
by  the  dormer  window,  reclined  the  lovely,  dying  girl.  She 
wore  a  faded  blue  gown ;  her  silky  black  hair  flowed  freely 
over  head  and  shoulders;  her  little  dark  face  was  wasted 
by  illness ;  but  her  large  dark  eyes  were  so  brilliant,  and  her 
cheeks  and  lips  so  bright,  that  she  was  beautiful  even  under 
the  shadow  of  death. 

A  cry  of  pity  half  escaped  the  lips  of  Cleve  Stuart  as  he 
approached  her  chair. 

She  held  out  both  hands  to  welcome  him,  and  her  face 
was  radiating  celestial  light  and  joy. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  laid  her 
little  head  against  his  breast  for  a  moment.  The  caress 
was  impulsive,  spontaneous,  compassionate,  and  withal  as 
pure  and  holy  as  if  it  had  been  bestowed  on  a  little  suffering 
sister. 

"Are  you  so  glad  to  see  me,  Palma?"  he  gently  inquired, 
as  he  laid  her  back  in  her  chair. 

"Oh,  so  glad!"  she  breathed,  with  the  sigh  of  profound 
content.  And  she  held  out  her  hands  to  him,  as  if  mutely 
imploring  him  to  take  them. 

He  drew  a  chair  to  her  side  and  seated  himself,  and  took 
the  little,  emaciated  hands  and  held  them  together  in  his 
own  while  he  questioned  her. 


»£  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Palma,  did  you  wonder  why  I  did  not  come  to  see  you?" 

She  raised  her  brown  eyes  to  his  face — sweet  eyes,  free 
from  reproach,  full  of  faith,  and  answered: 

"Yes,  but  I  thought  you  were  very  busy  and  could  not 
come,  or  else  I  knew  you  would  have  come." 

"  My  child,  I  could  not  find  you.  You  were  lost  to  me  in 
this  wilderness  of  New  York.  Only  yesterday  I  discovered 
your  abode,"  he  answered,  with  a  twinge  of  conscience, 

"I  know  you  have  come  just  as  soon  as  you  could,  and 
oh !  I  thank  you  so  much  for  coming/"' 

"No,  no,  no,  my  dear,  don't  say  that.  It  was  my  duty 
and  my  pleasure  to  come  to  you,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  pity  and  compunction. 

"You  are  so  good  to  come.  You  make  me  so  happy.  I 
am  going  to  die  soon ;  but  I  should  not  mind  if  I  could  only 
have  you  here  sitting  by  me,  holding  my  hand  to  the  last, 
to  the  very  last,"  she  panted,  tightening  her  clasp  upon  the 
hands  that  were  holding  hers. 

It  was  then  that  Cleve  Stuart,  really  forgetting  all  mer- 
cenary interests,  found  it  in  his  heart  an4  conscience  to 
marry  Palma  Hay. 

Why  should  be  not  make  this  poor  child  happy  for  the 
few  remaining  days  or  hours  of  her  life  ? 

It  was  then  that  he  put  to  her  the  question  with  which" 
this  story  opens : 

"Palma,  will  you  give  me  the  legal  right  to  care  for  you? 
Will  you  have  me  for  your  husband  ?" 

Then  followed  the  wondering,  incredulous  response  of 
the  delighted  girl. 

And  then  the  scornful  comment  of  the  astonished  woman. 

And  the  scene  ended  in  the  solemn  betrothal  of  the 
young  gentleman  to  the  dying  girl,  the  appointment  of 
their  marriage  to  be  solemnized  on  the  following  Sunday 
noon,  and  the  departure  of  the  bridegroom-elect  to  make 
preparations  for  the  ceremony. 

All  this  has  been  related  in  the  first  chapter  of  thia 
history. 

Now  we  will  take  up  the  thread  of  the  narrative  where 
we  left  it. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  33 

CHAPTER  IV 

"TO  LOVE  AND  TO  CHEBISH" 

CLEVE  STUART  arose  very  early  on  Saturday  morning,  and 
as  soon  as  he  had  dressed  and  breakfasted  he  went  in  per- 
son to  a  livery  stable,  so  that  he  might  himself  choose  a 
capacious,,  easy  carriage  and  steady  horses  to  convey  his 
delicate  charge  to  the  steamboat  pier. 

As  soon  as  it  was  ready  for  use,  he  entered  it  and  ordered 
the  coachman  to  drive  to  such  a  number  on  such  a  street. 

What  the  man  thought  of  a  fine  gentleman  driving  in  a 
fine  carriage  to  such  a  locality;  passes  conjecture.  He 
touched  his  hat  in  silence  and  obeyed  the  order.  Down 
Broadway,  across  to  the  Bowery,  into  a  narrow  side  street, 
and  then  into  a  labyrinth  of  alleys  he  drove,  and  finally, 
drew  up  before  the  tall,  old  tenement. 

Cleve  Stuart  sprang  out,  entered  the  open  door  and  ran 
up  the  broad  old  staircase,  meeting  on  every  floor  the  dirt, 
noise,  odors  and  espionage  that  had  greeted  him  on  his  pre- 
ceding visit. 

On  the  attic  floor  he  found  the  same  old  man  seated  in 
his  open  room,  making  pegs.  He  passed  the  workman  with 
a  nod  and  rapped  at  P  alma's  door.  It  was  instantly  opened 
by  Mrs.  Pole  and  he  entered  the  chamber. 

Palma  was  seated  in  the  same  chair  by  the  dormer  win- 
dow ;  but  what  a  change  had  come  over  the  child !  She 
wore  a  neat  crimson  cashmere  dress,  which  was  evidently  a 
relic  of  her  '^better  days,"  and  which  suited  her  brunette 
beauty.  Her  glossy,  curly  black  hair  had  been  "done  up" 
by  the  not  unskillful  hands  of  Mrs.  Pole,  and  was  now 
worn  coiled  in  a  rich  mass  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and 
rippling  in  short  curls  over  her  forehead.  The  feverish 
excitement  of  the  preceding  day  had  given  place  to  a  look 
of  calm  contentment. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  placid  yet  radiant 
smile. 

He  lifted  her  fingers  to  his  lips,  drew  a  chair  to  her  side, 
sat  down  and  asked  after  her  health. 

"Oh,  I  feel  so  well.  You  have  changed  everything  for 
me!  You  have  changed  me  and  the  whole  world  around 


34  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

me.  I  am  no  longer  a  poor,  fading  girl  in  an  attic;  I  am  a 
happy  spirit  in  paradise,"  she  fervently  replied. 

Cleve  noticed  now  that  Mrs.  Pole  was  trying,  silently,  to 
attract  his  attention  from  the  other  end  of  the  room  where 
she  stood,  she  also  dressed  in  her  Sunday's  best — a  well- 
worn,  cheap,  black  alpaca. 

Cleve  pressed  Palma's  hand,  and  went  and  joined  the 
woman. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,  sir,  as  I  think  it  was  the  doctor 
changing  the  medicine  and  me  changing  the  food  as  has 
helped  her.  He — the  doctor,  I  mean — came  yesterday  after 
the  parson  had  gone,  and  he  found  her  that  feverish  as  she 
was  almost  crazy;  and  he  made  up  a  sleeping  draught  for 
her  to  take  the  last  thing.  But  I  went  out  with  some  of 
that  money  you  gave  me  and  I  got  a  good  bottle  of  port 
wine,  and  a  good,  fat  fowl,  and  I  made  her  some  chicken 
broth  and  give  her  a  glass  of  the  wine,  full  two  hours  before 
I  give  her  the  sleeper;  and  so,  with  it  all,  she  has  had  a 
lovely  reit,  aad  never  disturbed  me  once  in  the  night,  and 
she  woke  this  morning  better  than  she  has  been  for  weeks." 

"Do  you  stay  with  her  all  night?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  But  my  room  is  next  to  hers,  and  there  is 
only  a  wall  between  her  cot  and  my  turn-up,  so  if  she 
vrants  anything  in  the  night,  all  she  has  got  to  do  is  to  rap 
on  the  wall,  you  see." 

"Yes,  I  see.  Did  you  tell  the  doctor By  the  way, 

who  is  her  physician?" 

"The  poor  doctor  for  the  deestrict,  sir — which  his  name 
is  Dr.  Ames." 

"Ah!  Did  you  tell  him  of — of  my  intentions  toward 
Palma?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  did;  and  he  was  properly  taken  aback,  as 
much  as  I  was." 

"But  what  did  he  say  about  the  matter?" 

"Well,  sir,  he  aet  a  lot  of  questions,  which  I  answered  as 
well  as  I  could,  and  then  he  called  me  out  into  the  passage 
and  told  me  that  if  you  had  come  two  months  ago  and  took 
her  away  and  put  her  under  sanitary  conditions,  you  might 
have  saved  her  life ;  but  that  now  it  is  too  late." 

"But  what  did  he  say  about  the  marriage?" 

"Oh,  that  it  would  not  matter,  one  way  or  the  other." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  35 

"Is  Palma  able  to  be  taken  a  short  distance  in  an  easy 
carriage?" 

"Knowing  your  plans,  sir,  I  ast  the  doctor  that  very 
thing,  which  he  told  me  she  would  if  placed  in  a  comforta- 
ble position  and  driven  slowly." 

"Very  well,  then;  get  her  ready  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
do  you,  if  you  please,  prepare  to  go  with  her  and  attend 
upon  her.  I  will  make  it  well  worth  your  while,  Mrs. 
Pole." 

"Yes,  sir,  that  I  calculated  on,"  said  the  woman.  And 
she  went  and  got  a  little  crimson  plush  jacket,  evidently 
belonging  to  the  suit  the  girl  wore,  and  put  it  on  her ;  and 
then  she  put  a  little  plush  hat  to  match  on  her  dark  curls, 
and  gave  her  a  pair  of  well-worn  black  kid  gloves. 

When  Palma  was  quite  ready,  Mrs.  Pole  completed  her 
own  toilet  by  putting  on  a  black  woolen  shawl  and  a  black 
straw  bonnet. 

Two  large,  cheap  traveling  bags  stood  side  by  side  near 
the  door. 

"I  bought  'em  this  morning,  sir,  out  of  the  money  you 
gave  me,  which  one  has  got  all  her  clothes  in  it,  poor  thing, 
and  t'other  mine.  Mr.  Pennyset,  the  old  gray  gentleman 
there,  will  take  them  downstairs  for  us  for  a  dime; 
and  you,  sir,  can  help  Palma.  I  must  stay  behind  a  minute 
to  lock  up,  but  I  won't  be  no  more." 

Cleve  Stuart  obeyed  orders  by  giving  his  arm  to  little 
Palma  and  supporting  her  to  the  door.  But  then,  per- 
ceiving her  extreme  weakness,  he  lifted  her  up  as  if  she  had 
been  an  infant,  and  said : 

"Put  your  arms  around  my  neck,  child,  and  rest  your 
head  on  my  shoulder,  then  you  will  not  be  tired." 

Smiling  happily,  she  complied.  And  so  he  carried  her 
slowly  down  the  stairs,  stopping  to  rest  her  on  each  landing, 
unmindful  of  the  curious  heads  peeping  through  the  doors 
or  leaning  over  the  banisters,  although  he  was  giving  the 
tenants  in  that  building  a  subject  for  gossip  that  would  last 
them  forever,  perhaps. 

The  old  peg-maker,  carrying  the  two  traveling  bags,  and 
Mrs.  Pole,  bearing  two  pillows,  overtook  them  at  the  foot 
of  the  last  flight  of  stairs. 

"You  see,  sir,  as  I  fetched  'em  for  her.  She  must  ride 
easy.  I  don't  know,  really,  as  a  strong  gentleman  like  yon 


36  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

can  'preciate  the  weakness  of  a  girl  in  a  decline,"  she 
explained. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can.  Go  before  me,  please,  and  arrange  the 
pillows  in  the  carriage  so  I  can  lay  her  down  in  them,"  he 
replied. 

And  he  followed,  with  Palma  in  his  arms,  and  placed  her 
in  the  nest  the  nurse  had  made  for  her. 

The  old  peg-maker  handed  the  traveling  bags  to  the 
coachman,  received  a  quarter  from  the  young  man,  and 
turned  to  go  into  the  house. 

"Get  in  quickly,  if  you  please,"  said  Cleve,  as  he  helped 
Mrs.  Pole  up  to  her  seat  beside  Palma. 

The  good  woman  settled  herself  so  as  to  afford  a  further 
support  to  the  feeble  invalid. 

"Drive  slowly  to  the  Vestry  Street  pier,"  was  the  order 
given  by  Cleve  Stuart,  as  he  hastily  entered  the  carriage 
and  closed  the  door  to  escape  the  eyes  that  were  peering 
from  every  window  of  the  old  tenement  and  the  crowd  that 
was  collecting  on  the  sidewalk,  all  wondering  whether  the 
girl  in  the  carriage  was  an  invalid  on  her  way  to  a  hospital 
or  a  lunatic  being  conveyed  to  an  asylum. 

The  carriage  moved  slowly  off. 

Palma  rested  softly  on  her  pillows,  further  sustained  by 
the  long,  strong  right  arm  of  Mrs.  Pole,  which  was  passed 
behind  them. 

The  girl's  beautiful,  dark  face  beamed  with  calm  delight. 

Cleve  Stuart,  seated  opposite  to  her,  contemplated  her 
happiness  with  a  satisfaction  that  almost  quieted  his  con- 
science and  restored  his  self-complacency. 

"Palma,  little  one,  do  you  know  where  you  are  going?" 
he  gently  inquired. 

"No,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head  and  smiling 
dreamily. 

"Don't  you  wish  to  know,  little  girl?" 

"No;  I  like  to  drift— drift— drift— out  into  the  bright 
new  world  with  you,"  she  murmured,  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  him. 

He  leaned  forward  to  take  and  press  the  little  offering, 
and  then  let  it  go,  and  sat  back  in  his  seat. 

The  carriage  drew  up  on  the  pier  at  the  foot  of  Vestry 
Street. 

The  Shaft  lay  there,  getting  up  her  steam. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  37 

Mr.  Stuart  beckoned  a  porter  to  come  and  take  the  bag- 
gage, and  then  he  got  out  and  lifted  Palma  down. 

Mrs.  Pole  followed,  bringing  the  pillows,  which  she  gave 
in  charge  of  the  porter,  who  was  already  loaded  with  the 


"I  can  walk — indeed  I  can  walk  a  little  way,"  said 
Palma,  as  Cleve  Stuart  attempted  to  lift  her  in  his  arms 
again. 

"I  think  she  can,  sir,  if  we  help  her  on  each  side,"  said 
Mrs.  Pole. 

And  so  between  the  two  they  walked  the  girl  across  the 
gang  plank  and  on  to  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

April  is  not  a  traveling  month,  and  so  there  were  but  few 
passengers  on  deck  and  plenty  of  room  to  arrange  a  couch 
made  of  pillows  and  shawls  on  one  of  the  side  benches. 

Cleve  Stuart  and  Mrs.  Pole  seated  themselves  before  her. 
They  were  isolated,  for  there  was  no  one  else  very  near 
them. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boat  turned  from  her  pier  and 
steamed  off  on  her  trip  up  the  North  River. 

".Oh,  this  is  heavenly !  heavenly !"  murmured  Palma, 
when  they  had  left  the  city  behind,  and  were  running  up 
the  Hudson  under  the  shadow  of  the  Palisades.  "Heav- 
enly! Oh,  thank  God !" 

Cleve  Stuart  patted  her  head  and  then  got  up  and  went 
forward  to  the  saloon. 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  followed  by  a  steward 
bearing  a  tray  with  a  mold  of  ice  cream,  a  loaf  of  sponge 
cake,  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and  the  necessary  china,  glass, 
silver,  linen  and  so  on. 

Two  flat-bottom  chairs  were  placed  together,  facing  each, 
other,  and  the  tray  set  upon  them. 

"Now,  this  is  earthly,  my  dear  child — earthly;  but  I 
hope  it  will  be  acceptable,"  said  Cleve  Stuart,  when  the 
waiter  had  left  them,  and  he  himself  began  to  wait  on 
Palma  and  her  companion. 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are  to  me !  How  very  good !  Oh, 
how  I  wish  I  could  live  now  to  repay  you  for  all  your  good- 
ness to  me !  But  that  is  nonsense,  and  worse  than  non- 
sense ;  it  is  presumption,  for  if  I  were  to  live  a  hundred 
years  I  never  could  repay  you.  No,  it  wrongs  pure,  unselfish 


88  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

goodness  to  talk  of  repaying  it,"  she  said,  as  she  received 
the  glass  of  wine  from  his  hand. 

Cleve  Stuart  could  not  meet  the  warm,  dark  eyes  fixed 
so  gratefully  on  him. 

He  turned  away  his  head,  sighed  profoundly,  and  said : 

"I  am  paid  more  than  enough,  and  much  more  than  I 
deserve,  by  seeing  you  so  happy ." 

"And  it  is  you  who  make  me  happy — you!" 

She  had  left  off  calling  him  "sir,"  and  could  not  yet 
bring  herself  to  call  him  "Cleve";  she  felt  too  near  to  him 
for  the  first  form ;  too  humble  for  the  second ;  so  that  there 
was  often  a  sort  of  awkwardness  in  her  address. 

He  watched  with  satisfaction  her  enjoyment  of  the  de- 
lights with  which  he  had  surrounded  her — the  beautiful 
day,  the  invigorating  air,  the  grand  scenery  of  the  river, 
which  grew  more  magnificent  with  every  mile;  and  even 
her  comfortable  couch  and  luxurious  luncheon  were  factors 
in  her  happiness  and  his  own  self-complacency. 

"Well,  now  she  do  seem  like  another  being,  don't  she, 
sir?"  approvingly  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pole,  when  their  repast 
was  finished,  and  a  steward  had  removed  the  tray,  and 
Palma  lay  back  on  her  pillows  smiling  in  delight. 

"She  does,  indeed,"  assented  Cleve  Stuart.  And  within 
himself  he  said :  "I  do  not  seem  to  be  doing  or* intending 
much  harm  to  the  poor  child,  do  I  now,  my  accusing  con- 
science ?" 

Probably  the  inner  judge  made  no  encouraging  reply, 
for  the  young  man  arose  and  began  to  pace  the  deck. 

The  Shaft  had  touched  landings  on  both  sides  of  the 
river,  on  her  way  upstream,  and  now  she  was  nearing  a 
landing  on  the  east  side. 

"What  a  lovely,  lovely  place,"  said  Palma,  enthusiasti- 
cally, as  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  to  gaze  on  the  green 
wooded  hills,  rising  one  above  the  other,  and  having  a  shady 
road  winding  up  among  them  and  disappearing  in  the 
upper  forests. 

"We  get  off  here,"  said  Cleve,  with  a  smile,  as  he  ap- 
proached his  party.  "What  do  you  think  of  the  place  as 
seen  from  the  boat,  Palma?" 

"Oh,  it  is  lovely,  and  inviting.  I  should  like  to  follow 
that  mysterious  road,  up,  up,  up,  to  see  where  it  leads." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  39 

"You  shall  follow  it,"  replied  Cleve,  with  a  laugh  at  her 
childishness. 

The  boat  touched  the  pier,  stopped,  was  secured  and  the 
gang  plank  was  thrown  down. 

There  were  but  few  passengers,  for  this  was  not  the 
season  for  crowded  boats. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  said  Cleve  Stuart,  assisting  Palma  to 
rise  to  her  feet.  She  seemed  stronger  than  when  she  left 
the  city  in  the  morning. 

"Your  arm  will  be  sufficient,  Cleve/'  she  said,  forgetting 
herself  and  calling  him  by  his  first  name  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life.  "I  feel  sure  that  I  can  walk  with  only  your 
support,"  she  added,  as  she  joined  him. 

"Then,  I'll  load  myself  down  with  these  shawls  and  pil- 
lows," said  Mrs.  Pole,  picking  up  the  articles  in  question 
and  preparing  to  follow. 

In  the  after  part  of  the  lower  deck  they  found  their  bags 
and  also  a  porter  who  was  glad  to  take  charge  of  them  and 
all  the  luggage  "for  a  consideration"  in  the  shape  of  a  half 
dollar. 

So  they  went  on  shore,  Cleve  Stuart  really  supporting 
Palma's  weight  as  she  paced  slowly  by  his  side. 

There  were  two  hacks  on  the  pier,  the  drivers  of  both 
vociferous  for  fares. 

Cleve  took  the  best-locking  of  the  two,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  only  other  passenger  besides  our  own  party 
that  landed  from  the  boat,  hired  the  other,  and  peace  was 
restored. 

Mrs.  Pole  arranged  the  pillows  in  the  carriage  and  Cleve 
Stuart  lifted  Palma  and  placed  her  in  her  seat,  and  then 
handed  up  the  elder  woman. 

"Drive  to  Forest  Hill,"  was  the  order  he  gave  to  the 
hackman,  and,  having  given  it,  he  entered  the  carriage  and 
seated  himself  on  the  cushions  opposite  Palma  and  Mrs. 
Pole. 

"Now  do  you  know  where  you  are  going?"  he  inquired  of 
Palma,  who  was  gazing  dreamily  out  of  the  window  into 
the  deep  woods  that  bordered  the  road  and  met  overhead, 
almost  shutting  out  the  eky  and  darkening  the  way. 

"I  only  know  I  am  being  wafted  up  into  beauties,  and 
delights,  and  mysteries  that  I  do  not  want  to  analyze.  I 
am  so  happy !  So  happy." 


40  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Ok,  you  are  a  little  fanatic — a  fanatic  in  love,  in  piety 
and  in  poetry,"  said  Cleve  Stuart,  bending  forward  and 
patting  her  hand  in  so  much  sympathy  with  her  and  satis- 
faction with  himself  that  he  forgot  the  twinges  of  his  con- 
science for  the  time. 

Up  and  up  through  the  winding  road  they  climbed  for 
miles,  without  seeing  a  house,  a  chimney,  a  field,  or  any 
sign  of  human  habitation  or  cultivation. 

Suddenly  the  road  led  them  into  a  forest  glade,  and  up 
before  a  large,  oblong,  white  house,  of  three  stories,  with 
piazzas  all  around  every  story  from  ground  to  roof,  and 
with  many  outbuildings — stables,  sheds  and  arbors — in  the 
rear. 

"  Oh,  what  a  lovely,  lovely  place !  It  is  a  fairy  palace  in 
the  woods !"  murmured  Palma,  gazing  with  delight  upon 
the  scene. 

"It  is  a  summer  resort  for  families  and  schools  in  the 
season,  but  the  season  has  not  yet  opened;  so  the  place  is 
very  quiet,  and  will  suit  you  we'll,"  said  the  young  man,  as 
he  lifted  the  girl  from  the  carriage  and  placed  her  in  a 
quaker  chair  on  the  front  piazza. 

Simultaneously  a  waiter  came  out  from  the  hall  and  a 
hostler  came  up  from  the  stables. 

Mrs.  Pole  joined  Palma  on  the  piazza,  and  Cleve  went 
back  to  the  carriage  to  settle  with  the  driver,  but  was  told 
that  the  vehicle  belonged  to  the  inn  and  would  be  "put  in 
the  bill." 

Then,  leaving  his  charge  and  her  attendant  still  sitting 
in  the  straw  chairs  on  the  piazza,  where  it  was  very  pleas- 
ant, he  went  into  the  office  of  the  house  to  arrange  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  two  women,  and  to  explain  that  ne 
himself  should  be  obliged  to  return  to  New  York  that  after- 
noon. 

The  clerk — who  was  also  the  host  of  this  pleasant,  unpre- 
tentious house,  in  which  there  was  no  bar,  but  only  an  office 
where  books  were  kept  and  keys  were  hung — informed  Mr. 
Stuart  that  at  present  there  were  no  sruests  in  the  place, 
except  a  few  quiet  old  ladiee  and  gentlemen  who  were  per- 
manent hoarder?,  never  leaving  for  more  than  a  week  at  a 
time,  and  a.  middle-aged  doctor  and  his  young  wife,  who 
were  on  their  honeymoon. 

Cleve  was  pleased  with  the  fact  that  there  was  a  physi- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  4r 

cian  in  the  house,  and  said  so,  adding  that  his  young 
charge,  whom  he  had  brought  to  the  place  for  health,  might 
need  treatment. 

Upon  further  inquiry,  he  learned  that  he  could  now  se- 
cure a  spacious,  double-bedded  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
for  the  use  of  the  invalid  girl  and  her  attendant,  and  where 
they  would  have  no  stairs  to  climb;  and  that  they  might 
have  their  meals  served  privately  in  a  communicating 
parlor. 

At  all  of  this  Cleve  Stuart  was  so  pleased  that  he  asked 
if  his  party  might  see  their  lodgings  at  once,  and,  being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  went  out  and  brought  in 
Palma  on  his  arm,  with  Mrs.  Pole  following  in  the  rear. 

The  landlord — whose  name  was  Lemuel  Lull,  and  who 
was  by  no  means  the  typical  host,  with  the  round  body  and 
red  face,  but  a  tall,  slender,  yellow-haired  man,  with  a 
freckled  skin,  blue  eyes  and  a  pleasant  smile — bowed  to  the 
two  women,  and  led  them  into — such  a  delightful  room ! 

It  was  a  spacious  chamber,  in  the  right-hand  front  corner 
of  the  house,  with  two  French  windows  opening  on  the 
front  piazza,  and  two  sash  windows  opening  on  the  side 
piazza.  There  was  a  dressing  bureau,  with  looking-glass, 
between  the  front  windows,  and  there  was  an  open  fireplace, 
with  a  pretty  mantelpiece,  between  the  side  windows. 
There  were  two  white  beds,  in  opposite  corners,  at  the  back 
of  the  room.  The  floor  was  stained  dark  brown  and  was 
highly  polished,  and  furnished  with  pretty,  bright,  varie- 
gated rugs,  laid  down  beside  each  bed,  and  before  the 
dressing  bureau,  the  fireplace  and  the  sofa.  The  walls  were 
white,  and  the  windows,  sofa  and  easy-chairs  were  draped 
with  white. 

"Oh,  what  a  delicious  room!  One  might  live  and  die 
here  I"  softly  murmured  Palma,  dreamily,  as  she  sank  into 
the  depths  of  a  yielding  easy-chair,  and  gazed  out  upon  the 
environing  green  wood,  seen  here  through  four  windows 
at  once. 

Mrs.  Pole,  who  had  dropped  her  pillows  on  the  sofa,  now 
took  off  the  girl's  hat  and  jacket,  and  hung  them  in  the 
wardrobe  that  stood  between  the  two  beds. 

"What  will  you  have  for  tea,  Palma?"  inquired  Cleve. 

"Anything  at  all.  I  am  so  happy.  You  are  so  good 
to  me." 


42  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Tea  and  bread  and  butter,  new-laid  eggs  and  fresh  milk 
and  broiled  spring  chicken/'  said  Mrs.  Pole,  returning  from 
the  ward  and  speaking  for  her  charge. 

Cleve  gave  the  order. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  dainty  repast  was  laid  in  a  pleas- 
ant little  sitting  room  on  the  same  floor. 

Palma  was  wheeled  there  in  her  easy-chair. 

"This  is  the  first  time  the  child  has  sat  at  the  table  for 
two  months.  And  look  at  her !  She  bears  it  so  well.  It  is 
a  miracle,  Mr.  Stuart,  and  you  have  wrought  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Pole,  as  she  poured  out  the  fragrant  Japan  and  served  it 
around. 

Palma  ate  with  a  good  appetite,  enjoying  to  the  utmost 
her  food,  her  companions  and  her  surroundings.  And 
Cleve  Stuart's  conscience  was  at  rest. 

When  tea  was  over,  and  Palma's  chair  was  wheeled  onto 
the  piazza  in  front  of  her  own  windows,  and  while  she  sat 
watching  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sinking  sun,  that  seemed 
to  be  kindling  little  fires  here  and  there  amid  the  thick 
foliage  of  the  forest,  Cleve  came  to  her  side,  and  asked: 
"Palma,  my  dear,  are  you  really,  really  happy?" 

"  Oh,  so  happy !  And  you  have  made  me  so.  You  are  so 
good.  And,  oh,  I  do  love  you  so  much !"  she  warmly  re- 
sponded, giving  him  her  hand,  which  he  pressed  to  his  lips. 

And  then  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart  even  began  to  think  that  per- 
haps he  was  rather  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  and  that  he  cer- 
tainly could  and  would  make  this  grateful  little  creature 
happy  for  the  short  time  she  might  have  to  live. 

When  the  sun  had  set,  he  wheeled  her  back  into  her  room, 
and  then  he  bid  her  good-by  for  a  few  hours,  saying,  as  he 
held  her  hand : 

"You  know,  my  dear  little  girl,  that  when  I  return  here 
I  will  bring  a  clergyman  with  me,  so  that  before  this  hour 
to-morrow  I  shall  be  your  husband,  with  the  right  to  stay 
with  you  always  and  take  care  of  you  as  long  as  you  live." 

"Yes,  I  know !  Thank  God !  "Thank  God !  And  thank 
you,  Cleve!  Oh,  yon  are  so  good,  and  I  do  love  you  so 
much — so  much,  Cleve." 

And  then  he  kissed  her  good-by,  and  left  her  seated  at  the 
front  window  in  charge  of  Mrs/  Pole. 

She  watched  him  come  out  of  the  front  door  and  enter 
the  same  old  hack  that  had  brought  them  to  the  house. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  43 

'Still,  she  watched  the  carriage  that  contained  him,  until  it 
rolled  away  and  was  hidden  in  the  wood. 

Then  she  turned  to  her  companion,  and  murmured, 
dreamily : 

"Oh,  Poley,  dear,  this  seems  like  a  dream.  It  is  too  good 
to  be  true.  Too  good  to  last.  I'm  afraid — I'm  afraid  some- 
thing will  happen." 

"Nonsense,  child.  That's  because  you  have  just  seen  Him 
go.  It  is  always  solemnizing  to  see  a  friend  go  away;  hat, 
you  know,  he  will  come  back  to-morrow."" 

"Yes,  if  nothing  should  happen  to  prevent  him."  she 
said,  with  a  heavy  sigh.  And  a  shadow  fell  over  the  bright- 
ness of  her  face. 

Was  it  the  shadow  of  coming  events  ? 

Cleve  Stuart  returned  to  New  York  by  train,  and  reached 
the  Grand  Central  Depot  at  about  nine  o'clock. 

He  took  a  Broadway  stage,  and  rode  to  his  hotel. 

When  he  entered  the  office,  and  asked  for  the  key  of  his 
room,  the  clerk  who  reached  it  down  from  its  peg  alse 
handed  him  a  letter. 

He  saw  with  surprise  that  it  was  directed  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Lamia  Leegh;  for  this  was  a  breach  of  their 
compact,  that  all  epistolary  correspondence,  as  well  as  all 
personal  interviews,  should  cease  between  them  for  the 
present. 

The  letter  had  no  postmark,  therefore  it  had  been  sent  by 
a  messenger,  and  in  the  corner  was  written  and  under- 
scored— immediate.  It  was  also  sealed  with  a  plain 
stamper. 

"When  did  this  come?  Who  brought  it?"  inquired  Mr. 
Stuart,  as  he  turned  it  over  in  his  hands. 

"A  page  from  Vansitart's,  about  an  hour  ago,"  replied 
the  clerk. 

Cleve  Stuart  ran  up  to  his  room,  lit  his  gas,  dropped 
into  a  seat,  and  opened  the  letter. 

His  face  flushed  crimson,  and  then  fgaded  into  pallor,  as 
he  read : 

"No.  —  FIFTH  AVENUE,  April  30th,  8  P.  M. 

"Cleve,  come  to  me  instantly.  Go  no  further  in  the 
matter  we  planned.  There  are  no  'millions  in  it/  but  ruin. 
Drop  the  girl  like  a  grenade  and  escape  destruction.  She 
is  a  beggar.  An  heir  has  been  discovered  in  the  son  of  that 


44  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

second  son  who  was  supposed  to  have  died  unmarried  in 
California,  who  takes  precedence  of  the  daughter  of  the 
third,  and  who  brings  all  the  documents  necessary  to  prove 
him  the  heir-at-law  of  the  late  John  Haywood  Hay,  of  Hay- 
more.  Come  instantly  to  hear  all  the  particulars.  L.  L." 


CHAPTEE  V 

IN  THE  WILDS 

a  go,  No-Man's  Mike !    Here  is  a  go !" 

"And  pwhat  is  it,  thin,  Kan  Hay,  me  bowld  bhoy?" 

"I've  come  into  a  fortune !" 

"Kim  into  a  f ortin  ?    The  divil  ye  have ?" 

"Blest  if  I  haven't!" 

"•Glory  be  to  Moses,  thin !  And  is  it  a  rich  lade  av  the 
pure  goold  ye've  sthruck,  unbeknownst  to  meself,  yer  honest 
pard?" 

"No!  How  could  I?  But  it  is  something  a  great  deal 
better  than  gold,  that  any  man  may  happen  to  get  for  the 
digging." 

"Hear  that,  now!  Something  a  grade  dale  betther  nor 
the  beautiful  goold  !  Tare  an'  'ounds,  man !  pwhat  kin  be 
betther  nor  the  shining  yellow  light  of  itself  ?  And  pwhat 
is  it  ye  have  kim  into,  thin  ?" 

"Rank  and  position !" 

"Rank  and  perdition!  Whichst,  ye  hosses!  Is  it  num- 
erated for  the  Guv'ner  av  Californy,  or  President  av  the 
United  States,  ye  are?" 

"Neither  just  yet,  Mike.  I'm  too  young  for  such  advance- 
ment. That  is  the  only  reason,  Mike.  I'm  too  young  " 

"Ah!  to  be  sure!  Thin  it's  the  Quain  av  Ingland  have 
made  ye  king  av  the  speckled  niggers  in  some  av  thim 
savidge  countries  jist  conquested  be  the  British  Lyne !  Ony 
bhoy  as  kin  be  spared  'ill  do  to  fling  at  thim  haythen 
cannybells." 

"And  you  think  I  might  be  spared  for  such  a  fate? 
Thank  you,  No-Man's  Mike.  But  it  has  not  been  offered 
me.  You're  out  again." 

"Thin,  why  the  divil  can't  ye  lave  off  bating  about  the 
bush,  and  tell  me  all  av  it?" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  45 

"Well,  then,  I  have  fallen  heir  to  a  great  estate  and  a 
territorial  title." 

"The  divil's  granny!  And  where  is  it,  now?  In  the 
moon?" 

"In  the  North  of  England." 

"In  the  Narth  av  Ingland  I  Look  at  that,  now!  And 
how  kim  ye  to  fall  into  sich  luck  galore  ?" 

"By  being  next  of  kin  and  heir-at-law  to  the  late  Squire 
John  Hay  wood  Hay,  of  Haymore." 

"Heh !  Ye  don't  say  so !  I  take  off  me  hat  to  ye,  shir. 
Or  is  it  me  lord,  I  should  say  ?  And  here  kirns  Gentleman 
Geff.  Heh !  Kim,  Mistlier  Delamere  !  And  take  yer  hat 
off,  shir,  to  a  grader  man  than  yerself !  Bow  to  Misther 
Eandolph  Hay,  Eskvire,  of  Haymore,  being  heir-at-law  and 
next  av  kin  to  that  grade  estate." 

"You've  been  drinking,  Mike,  and  this  is  the  first  of 
April/'  said  the  newcomer,  as  he  joined  the  first  two  men. 

"Devil  a  dhrap  av  the  crayther  have  gone  down  me  wind- 
pipe the  day !  And  av  it's  the  first  av  April  itself,  yerself  is 
the  first  to  remimber  it.  Sure,  it's  no  April  joke  I'm  pass- 
ing on  ye." 

"What  does  he  mean,  Hay?" 

"I'll  tell  you  later." 

The  scene  was  the  mining  camp  of  Grizzly,  on  Black 
Bear  Eiver,  California. 

The  season  was  the  evening  of  the  first  of  April. 

The  persons  were  two  young  miners,  who  were  also  part- 
ners, returning  to  their  cabins  after  a  hard  day's  digging, 
and  a  certain  "genteel"  hanger-on  to  the  camp  and  its  one 
barroom  and  gambling  den. 

A  mining  camp  is  said  to  be  a  gathering  of  adventurers 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  and  from  every  rank  in  society. 
It  must,  therefore,  present  strange  contrasts,  yet  never 
stranger  ones  than  were  exhibited  in  the  three  men  intro- 
duced to  the  reader  under  the  names  of  Eandolph  Hay, 
No-Man's  Mike  and  Gentleman  Geff. 

The  first — "Ban  Hay" — was  a  young  man  of  about 
twenty-three  years  of  age.  He  was  of  medium  height  and 
slender  build,  with  a  thin  face,  aqualine  features,  with  a 
very  dark  complexion,  jet  black  hair  and  beard  .  His 
glances,  tones  and  movements  were  quick,  alert,  smooth  and 
graceful  as  those  of  a  cat  or  a  serpent. 


46  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Yet  let  it  not  be  thought  that,  with  the  peculiar  charm 
and  beauty  of  form  and  motion  appertaining  to  these  crea- 
tures, he  possessed  any  of  their  sublety,  treachery  or  cru- 
elty. On  the  contrary,  he  was  as  frank,  simple  and  honest 
a  soul  as  ever  lived. 

His  voice,  too,  was  quick,  riant  and  melodious.  He 
looked  a  gentleman,  notwithstanding  that  his  skin  was 
tanned  by  constant  exposure,  and  his  hands  hardened  by 
rough  work ;  and  he  wore  the  coarse  suit  of  the  miner,  con- 
sisting of  a  red  flannel  shirt  tucked  into  the  waistband  of  a 
pair  of  duck  trousers,  which  were  in  turn  tucked  into  the 
tops  of  high  leather  boots.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  very 
much  battered  old  felt  hat.  Enough  of  him  for  the  present. 
He  will  tell  his  own  story  later. 

The  second,  No-Man's  Mike,  was  a  youth  about  nineteen 
years  old,  with  a  well-knit,  sturdy  form,  above  the  middle 
height;  with  ruddy  complexion,  black  hair,  blue  eyes,  pug 
nose,  wide  mouth,  fine  teeth  and  a  chin  free  from  beard ; 
and  he  had  a  merry,  careless,  mocking  expression. 

He,  too,  wore  the  miner's'  suit  of  flannel  shirt,  duck 
trousers  and  hide  boots ;  but  in  his  case  they  were  all  of  one 
color,  and  that  color  was,  "of  the  earth,  earthy." 

No-Man's  Mike  had  received  his  odd  nickname  in  this 
manner : 

One  evening,  shortly  after  his  arrival  at  Grizzly,  it  hap- 
pened that  one  of  the  diggers,  having  been  very  lucky  that 
day;  treated  the  whole  camp  in  Ben  Brown's  barroom.  Mike 
got  his  full  share  of  very  bad  whisky — much  more-  than  he 
had  ever  drank  before'.  It  got  into  his  head,  and  it  got  into 
his  tongue.  He  grew  maudlin,  affectionate  and  talkative 
about  his  "Swishter"  Judy  and  himself.  He  always  put 
Judy  first,  and,  in  camp  parlance,  he  gave  her  and  himself 
away.  In  short,  he  told  the  following  story : 

How,  one  fine  May  morning;  about  eighteen  years  ago, 
his  twin  Swishter4 Judy  and  himself  had  been  left  like  a  pair 
of  young  chickens  at  the  door  of  the  Foundling  Hospital 
of  the  Sant  Madre;  how  his  swishter  had  been  baptized 
Judith,  in  honor  of  the  saint,  and  he  had  been  baptized 
Michael,  in  honor  of  the  great  archangel,  who,  it  was  well 
beknownst,  had  whipped  the  divil  at  Donny brook  Fair,  and 
had  left  him  niver  a  leg  to  rin  away  wid. 

How,  at  siven  years  old,  his  Swisther  Judy  and  himself 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  47 

had  been  parted — Judy  sent  to  the  female  orphan  asylum, 
and  himself  to  the  male — but  they  were  permitted  to  visit 
aich  ither  at  times,  so  that  the  warrum  love  betwixt  them 
niver  cooled. 

How,  at  fourteen  years  of  age,  they  were  both  'printiced, 
— Judy  to  the  mistress  of  a  large  family,  to  learn  housework 
until  she  should  be  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  Mike  to  a 
stonecutter,  to  learn  his  trade  and  work  for  his  boss  until 
he  should  be  twinty-one,  sure. 

How,  in  his  indentures,  he  was  described  as  Michael 
Man,  which  he  supposed  the  name  of  Man  was  given  him 
only  because  he  had  been  born  a  man-child,  though  no  man, 
nor  woman,  nayther,  had  ever  claimed  him  for  a  son.  So 
he  was  no  man's  Mike,  sartin  sure. 

How  Judy  washed  and  ironed,  cooked  and  scrubbed, 
minded  babies  and  cleaned  house  for  his  mistress  until 
she  was  eighteen  years  old,  and  her  time  was  out. 

How  Mike  all  the  while  worked  hard  with  chisel  and 
hammer  for  his  boss,  and  fared  hard,  and  the  one  drhame 
av  his  was  to  be  free  to  work  for  Judy,  and  have  her  to 
kape  house  for  himself,  which  drhame  now,  blissid  be  the 
holy  mither,  had  come  thrae. 

How  at  length,  when  Judy  was  free  to  go  where  she 
plaised,  though  he  had  three  years  yit  to  serve  wid  his 
boss,  he  took  thought  that  as  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
making  that  bargain,  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
kaping  it.  So  he  had  a  talk  with  Judy,  and  they  made 
up  their  bundles  and  ran  away  together  to  seek  their  for- 
tunes in  the  gold  mines;  and  how,  after  months  of  wan- 
dering, privation,  suffering  and  vicissitude,  they  had 
drifted  into  Grizzly. 

"And,  gintlemin,  sure  it's  yerselves  that  know  the  rist; 
and  the  throat  av  me  is  dhry  as  a  limekiln  wid  all  this 
talking,  so  it  is,"  Mike  had  concluded. 

They  filled  his  can  to  the  brim,  and  he  emptied  it  to  the 
bottom,  and  then  rolled  over  and  slept  the  sleep  of  intoxi- 
cation. When  the  orgies  broke  up  some  of  the  sober  men 
carried  him  to  his  cabin  and  laid  him  on  his  bed. 

Yes,  they  knew  the  rest.  They  knew  that  on  a  certain 
stormy  day  in  January,  some  fifteen  months  before,  two 
forlorn  young  people  were  driven  by  stress  of  want  and 
weather  to  seek  shelter  in  the  camp.  At  first  they  were 


48  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

supposed  to  be  a  pair  of  young  lovers  who  had  run  away 
to  be  married,  but  they  were  soon  found  to  be  orphan 
brother  and  sister,  so  destitute  at  this  crisis  of  their  lives 
that  but  for  the  kindness  of  the  miners  they  must  have 
perished.  Here  they  found,  at  first,  food  and  shelter  given 
freely,  and  afterward  work  in  plenty  for  both;  and  now 
they  had  met  with  good  luck,  if  not  great  fortune. 

The  third  man  of  the  company — Gentleman  Geff,  other- 
\vise  Mr.  Geoffrey  Delamere — was  the  type  of  an  ordinary 
English  "swell." 

No  more  was  known  of  his  parentage  than  was  known  of 
Mike's. 

He  seemed  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  was  tall, 
broad-shouldered,  bull-necked  and  bullet-headed.  He  had 
regular  features,  a  full  face,  fresh  complexion,  light  red 
hair  and  beard,  and  steel  blue  eyes.  He  wore  a  neat  morn- 
ing suit  of  dark  blue  tweel,  and — wonder  of  wonders  in  a 
mining  camp — he  wore  spotless,  snowy  linen.  But,  then, 
Grizzly  boasted  a  most  accomplished  laundress  who  was 
making  lots  of  money  by  her  art,  and  this  was  no  other 
than  Judy,  Mike's  good  and  pretty  "swishter." 

Gentleman  Geff  seemed  to  have  led  a  very  wild,  reckless 
and  perilous  life  by  land  and  sea ;  he  had  been  in  the  army 
and  in  the  navy,  in  the  civil  service,  but  more  than  half  his 
days  and  nights  had  been  passed  in  barrooms  and  gambling 
saloons. 

Nothing  had  ever  succeeded  with  him  but  gambling,  and 
that  had  succeeded  so  well  as  to  defeat  its  own  object,  and 
ruin  its  votary.  In  other  words,  his  face  was  too  well 
known  in  the  saloons  of  the  great  centers.  So  he  had  wan- 
dered out  among  the  gold  diggers,  where  his  success  fol- 
lowed him,  until,  as  before,  it  defeated  him.  He  had  been 
expelled  from  some  camps  and  had  fled  for  his  life  from 
others,  until,  at  length,  he  had  drifted  into  Grizzly,  where, 
luckily  for  him,  his  fame  had  not  preceded  him.  Here  he 
found  lodgings  with  Ran  Hay,  who  had  space  for  a  chum 
because  his  partner,  Mike,  lived  with  the  latter's  sister. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  three  men  reached  their 
cabins.  These  were  two  of  the  rudest  log  huts  that  ever 
sheltered  human  beings.  They  stood  side  by  side,  with 
their  backs  against  a  rock  crowned  with  stunted  trees.  They 
were  exactly  alike,  each  about  twenty  feet  square,  with  no 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  49 

better  roof  than  a  flat  top  built  like  the  walls  of  rough  logs 
filled  in  with  earth.  Each  had  a  chimney  at  the  back  raised 
of  rocks,  against  the  rock,  and  each  had  a  doorway  without 
a  door,  and  a  window  frame  without  a  window,  in  front. 

As  you  stood  before  them,  the  hut  on  the  right  was  occu- 
pied by  No-Man's  Mike  and  his  Swishter  Judy ;  the  one  on 
the  left,  by  Ran  Hay  and  his  guest,  Gentleman  Geff. 

Ran  Hay's  hut  was  as  dark  as  a  pit,  Mike's  was  all  aglow 
with  the  light  wood  fire  that  the  chilly  April  night  made 
so  desirable. 

"That's  all  the  differ,  d'ye  moind,  betwaxt  a  woman  and 
no  woman  to  the  fore.  They  may  call  me  No- Man's  Mike — 
had  luck  to  the  hands  that  flung  me  into  the  foundling, 
like  a  blind  pup  too  many  into  the  pond — but,  bedad !  no 
one  can  say  I'm  no  woman's  darlint.  There's  not  the  aiquil 
av  that  swishter  av  moine  in  all  the  country,  aither  aist  or 
wast  av  the  Rockies.  And  ef  ony  man  denies  it,  he'll  have 
to  fight  me,"  said  Mike,  looking  defiant. 

"And  me,  too,  Mike !"  warmly  added  Ran  Hay. 

"No  man  could  be  so  ungallant,  not  to  say  untruthful,, 
as  to  deny  such  an  obvious  fact,"  gravely  observed  Gentle- 
man Gen1. 

"If  he  did  he  would  have  to  swallow  his  words,  rammed 
down  his  throat  with  the  heft  of  my  pick,"  said  Ran  Hay. 

"Oh,  ay;  I  hear  till  you,  Misther  Hay.  But  aven  so, 
shir,  ye  may  be  afther  tipping  the  colleen  the  cowld  shoul- 
dther,  now  ye  have  kim  into  yer  fortin.  But  if  ye  do " 

"Stow  that,  Mike !  Nothing  could  ever  make  me  go  back 
on  Judy,"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"Ah,  bad  luck  till  ye !  Ye'll  be  afther  looking  up  a  leddy 
or  a  heiress.  Sure,  all  the  gintry  do  that  same.  But  if  ye 

"Shut  up,  No-Man's  Mike !  I'm  not  gentry  myself,  even 
if  I  come  of  gentry.  But  all  the  same,  to  judge  by  my 
father  and  my  uncles,  the  Hays  of  Haymore,  if  they  marry 
at  all,  marry  for  love,  and  nothing  but  love.  There !  Give 
my  love  to  Judy,  and  tell  her  I'll  look  in  after  supper,"  said 
Ran  Hay,  as  he  turned  to  enter  his  hut. 

"Howld  on,  man !  Bide  till  I  bring  ye  a  lighted  candle !" 
cried  Mike,  as  he  disappeared  in  his  cabin.  And  "in  less 
than  no  time"  he  reappeared  with  a  lighted  dip  stuck  in  the 
mouth  of  an  empty  bottle. 


60  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Now,  shir,  that'll  light  ye  up  till  ye  kindle  your  fire." 

"Thank  you,  Mike/'  returned  Ran,  as  he  took  the  prof- 
fered candle  and  entered  his  hut,  followed  by  Gentleman 
Geff. 

The  hut  was  as  rude  within  as  without,  and  provided  in 
the  most  primitive  manner.  Two  narrow  bedsteads  stood 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  room,  and  were  covered  with  buffalo 
hides  and  blankets;  two  stools,  one  pine  table,  a  shelf,  on 
which  stood  a  few  pieces  of  crockery  and  tin  ware,  and 
under  which  lay  a  few  iron  cooking  utensils,  completed  the 
furniture. 

Gentleman  Geff  threw  himself  down  on  one  of  the  beds, 
and  called  Ran  to  bring  him  the  candle  to  light  his  cigar. 

And  he  lay  and  puffed  away,  filling  the  cabin  with  smoke, 
while  Ran  kindled  the  fire  and  prepared  their  supper. 

When  the  coffee,  fried  bacon  and  eggs,  corn  cakes  and 
molasses  were  placed  upon  the  table,  Gentleman  Geff  slowly 
raised  himself  from  his  recumbent  position  and  drew  a  stool 
to  the  board  and  sat  down,  with  no  smile  of  appreciation 
for  the  young  host,  who  was  giving  him  freely  of  the  best 
he  had  in  food  and  shelter,  time  and  service,  but  rather 
with  a  scowl  of  discontent  and  misanthropy  at  the  hardness 
of  his  fare  and  the  rudeness  of  his  surroundings. 

"Sorry  I  have  got  no  better  to  offer  a  gentleman,  Mr. 
Delamere;  but  it  happens  just  now  that  there  is  not  a 
pound  of  venison  or  bear's  meat  in  the  camp.  If  there 
was  it  should  be  at  your  service;  but  just  now " 

"Ah,  yes,  it  is  always  just  now  with  me  and  my  luck ! 
But  I  am  much  indebted  to  you,  Hay." 

"Oh,  stow  that !  Now,  Judy  keeps  chickens  and  a  pig. 
Bless  you,  she  sent  the  very  first  money  she  earned  by  wash- 
ing and  ironing  to  'Frisco  by  the  packman  to  buy  'em  alive 
for  her,  and  they — the  poultry,  I  mean — have  increased  and 
multiplied ;  but,  Lord,  Judy  would  no  more  let  one  of  her 
chickens  be  killed  than  if  it  were  one  of  her  own  young 
ones." 

"I  thought  the  girl  was  a  single  woman  ?" 

"Oh,  of  course  she  is.  I  mean  if  she  was  married  and 
had  young  ones.  And  I  am  only  explaining  why  the  faro 
is  so  hard.  Why,  Lord,  before  Judy  came  we  never  had 
fresh  eggs.  She  is  saving  up  money  now  to  buy  a  cow. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  51 

And  then  we  shall  have  fresh  milk  and  fresh  butter.  That 
girl  Judy  has  been  a  godsend  to  this  camp/' 

"But  you  will  scarcely  be  here  to  get  the  benefit  of  Judy's 
cow.  You  will  be  where  all  the  luxuries  of  life  will  be  at 
your  command,  if  this  story  of  your  fortune  is  not  a  sort  of 
April  joke." 

"It's  no  joke,  though  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  myself  as  a 
fact  yet.  See  here!"  continued  Ean  Hay,  and  he  pulled 
from  his  trousers'  pocket  a  newspaper,  and  turning  to  the 
"personal"  on  the  first  column  of  the  first  page,  he  read : 

"NEXT  OF  KIN. — If  this  should  meet  the  eyes  of  James 
Jordan  Hay,  third  son  of  the  late  John  Haywood  Hay,  of 
Haywood,  Yorkshire,  England,  he  is  requested  to  commu- 
nicate immediately  with  the  undersigned,  when  he  will  hear 
something  to  his  advantage.  Walling  &  Walling,  Attor- 
neys-at-Law,  Judiciary  Buildings,  111  Star  Street." 

"What  paper  is  that,  Hay  ?" 

"The  New  York  Weekly  Trumpeter,  which  contains  an 
epitome  of  the  whole  world  history  before  it  is  lived  out. 
Tells  you  every  fact  before  it  has  happened,  and  all  that." 

"And  you  take  it?" 

"Yes ;  the  packman  brings  it  to  me  from  'Frisco  every 
week.  I  got  this  last  night ;  and,  if  you  believe  me,  though 
I  thought  I  had  read  every  line  in  it,  I  hadn't  seen  this 
advertisement  which  concerns  me  so  much.  And  as  we 
were  coming  in  this  afternoon,  I  had  just  taken  the  paper 
out  of  my  pocket,  intending  to  hand  it  over  to  Ben  Brown 
for  the  benefit  of  the  crowd  in  his  barroom,  when  my  eyes 
accidentally  'met'  a  short  paragraph  in  the  'Personal,'  made 
up  mostly  of  the  surname  Hay,  which  is  also  my  name.  So 
I  read  it  and  cried  out.  So  would  anybody  who  had  sud- 
denly come  into  a  fortune." 

"But,  my  friend,  I  don't  see  that  this  advertisement  has 
anything  to  do  with  you,  although  the  name  is  yours." 

"Oh,  yon  don't— don't  you?  Then,  I'll  tell  you.  The 
late  John  Haywood  Hay,  of  Haywood,  Yorkshire,  England, 
was  my  grandfather,  and  James  Jordan  Hay,  third  son  of 
the  deceased,  but  of  nowhere  in  particular,  is  my  youngest 
uncle !" 

"Well?" 


52  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Well,  my  father  was  the  second  eon  of  the  late  squire, 
and  the  elder  brother  of  James  Jordan,  and  consequently 
preceded  him  in  the  heirship;  and  I,  in  the  right  of  my 
father,  am  heir-at-law  of  Haymore." 

"Whew-ew-ew !"  said  Gentleman  Geff,  blowing  a  slow 
whistle.  "But,  after  all,  my  friend,  it  is  your  uncle,  and 
not  you,  whom  the  advertisers  call  for." 

"That's  because  they  don't  know  anything  about  me. 
But,  all  the  same,  I  am  heir-at-law  of  Haymore !" 

"Perhaps  the  deceased  may  have  executed  a  will  in  favor 
of  his  youngest  son  ?" 

"Couldn't  do  it.    The  estate  is  strictly  entailed." 

"You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  your  grandfather's 
estate  in  Yorkshire,  considering  you  never  set  foot  in  Eng- 
land." 

"Yes,  I  do;  though  I  never  expected  to  be  benefited  by 
it.  I  guess  I  had  better  give  you  a  little  bit  of  family  his- 
tory, and  that  will  tell  you  how  and  why  I  know  so  much. 
But  let  me  clear  up  first/'  said  Ran  Hay,  as  he  gathered 
the  fragments  of  the  meal  and  put  them  in  a  covered  pail 
and  set  them  outside  of  the  door,  with  the  remark:  "Mike 
will  take  it  away  presently  for  Judy's  pig." 

Then  he  washed  up  the  dishes  and  put  them  on  the  shelf, 
cleared  off  the  table,  lighted  a  second  candle,  and  placed  it 
with  the  first  on  the  board,  drew  his  stool  up  and  sat-  down. 

Gentleman  Geff  lighted  a  second  cigar  and  puffed  away 
at  it  as  he  sat  opposite  his  host. 

"You.  see,"  began  Hay,  "the  late  squire  of  Haymore,  by 
all  accounts,  was  a  hard  man,  a  stern  father  and  a  severe 
master.  He  was  feared,  respected  and  avoided  by  all  who 
knejv  him.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  guilty  of  what  he 
considered  a  great  folly,  for  which  his  father  would  have 
disinherited  him,  if  he  could,  have  done  so,  but  the  fact 
of  the  estate  being  strictly  entailed  saved  this  prodigal  son 
his  inheritance." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"A.  deed  just  natural  and  honorable  enough  in  itself,  yet 
a  deed  of  which  he  repented  all  the  days  of  his  life,  and"  in 
memory  of  which  he  grew  into  a  martinet  in  his  own  family 
discipline/' 

"But  what  did  he  do,  I  ask  you  again?" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  £B 

"He  married  a  beautiful  gypsy  girl  with  whom  he  had 
fallen  madly  in  love !" 

"Whew-ew-ew  !"  whistled  Gentleman  Geff.  "But  I  don't 
blame  him !" 

"Don't  blame  him  for  what?"  inquired  Ran  Hay,  in 
doubt. 

"For  falling  in  love  with  the  beautiful  gypsy,  and  for 
repenting  having  married  her  all  the  days  of  his  life !  How 
did  it  turn  out  in  other  respects  ?" 

"The  marriage?" 

"Of  course !" 

''Well,  she  brought  him  three  sons,  and  then  died,  poor 
thing,  when  she  was  but  twenty  years  old/' 

"Very  properly!  very  considerately!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Delamere. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  queried  Ran. 

"It  was  the  best  thing  she  could  have  done  for  her  hus- 
band," replied  Genthleman  Geff. 

"It  was  the  best  thing  she  could  have  done  for  her  her- 
self, I  think,"  remarked  Ran  Hay. 

"Well,  go  on  with  the  family  history,  with  which  you 
seem  to  be  pretty  well  acquainted,  considering  all  things." 

"My  father  told  me  all  I  know.  My  grandfather  brought 
up  his  three  boys  under  a  very  severe  rule.  They  were  all 
very  near  of  an  age,  with  only  a  year  between  them.  They 
grew  up  together,  never  went  to  a  public  school,  but  had  a 
terrible  tutor  at  home,  a  great  scholar,  but  an  ascetic 
fanatic,  who  made  life  hideous  to  them  for  many  years, 
until  they  were  all  three  duly  prepared  to  enter  college.  The 
three  were  sent  to  Cambridge  on  the  same  day.  Colin,  the 
eldest  son,  was,  of  course,  the  heir;  Cuthbert,  the  second 
son — my  father — was  intended  for  the  church,  because  my 
grandfather  had  a  living  in  his  own  gift ;  James,  the  third 
and  youngest,  was  destined  for  the  army.  Now,  I'm  going 
to  make  very  short  work  of  these  fellows,  because  I  want 
to  get  off  and  go  to  see  Judy,"  said  Ran. 

"Do  so,"  agreed  Gentleman  Geff. 

"Well,  in  due  course  of  time  they  all  came  home  from 
Cambridge  for  good.  The  heir  became  'a  mighty  hunter 
before  the  Lord' — fox  hunter,  I  mean.  Mr.  Cuthbert  had 
read  for  holy  orders,  but  he  positively  refused  to  take  them. 
He  had  too  much  gypsy  blood  in  him  for  that.  Thereupon 


54  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

ensued  a  terrible  family  row,  which  ended  in  the  squire 
turning  his  second  son  out  of  doors.  The  young  man  sold 
all  his  personal  effects — gold  watch,  diamond  studs,  books, 
pictures,  fowling  pieces,  fishing  rods  and  so  on*,  and  realized 
money  enough  to  take  him  out  to  California.  He  came  into 
the  territory  when  there  were  more  Spaniards  than  Amer- 
icans here.  I'm  going  to  make  short  work  of  my  poor 
father,  because  I  promised  to  go  and  see  Judy,"  said  Ran, 
impatiently. 

"Of  course !    'Of  course !"  assented  Gentleman  Geff. 

"My  father,  too,  made  a  love  match,  but  one  of  which  he 
never  repented.  He  married  the  daughter  of*  a  Spanish 
grandee,  who  was  so  poor  and  so  proud  that  had  the  girl 
not  found  a  husband  of  good  family  she  must  have  gone 
into  a  convent." 

"What  was  her  name?" 

"Maria  della  Rosa.  And  she  was  as  beautiful  as  any 
other  beauty  for  whom  a  man  has  lost  the  world.  My 
father's  poverty  was  no  objection  in  the  eyes  of  his  intended 
father-in-law,  especially  when  the  former  agreed  to  enter 
the  Catholic  Church  in  order  to  obtain  his  bride.  They 
married  and  lived  in  the  tumble-down  old  mansion  of  my 
grandfather,  Don  Luis  della  Rosa.  My  father  obtained  a 
position  as  teacher  of  English  in  a  Spanish  school,  and 
though  the  confinement  and  the  occupation  were  both  ex- 
tremely irksome  and  trying  to  his  gypsy  blood,  he  held  it 
and  supported  the  small  family.  Oh !  how  long  it  takes  to 
tell  all  this,  and  I  want  to  go  to  see " 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  hurry  up." 

"So  I  will.  Well,  I  was  born  in  my  grandfather's  house, 
and  lived  there  until  I  was  five  years  old,  when  a  contagious 
fever  broke  out  in  the  city,  and  carried  off  my  old  grand- 
father and  my  dear  mother.  My  father  went  almost  mad 
under  this  awful  bereavement.  Influenced  by  his  grief, 
that  would  not  allow  him  to  remain  in  a  scene  where  every- 
thing reminded  him  of  all  he  had  loved  and  lost,,  and  in- 
fluenced also,  no  doubt,  by  his  gypsy  blood  that  urged  him 
to  a  wandering  life,  he  left  the  city,  taking  me  with  him, 
and  sought  the  gold  mines,  not  for  riches,  but  for  change, 
distraction  and  forgetfulness.  And  from  that  time  we  lived 
the  rough  and  rambling  life  of  the  miner,  beguiled  from 
place  to  place  by  reports  of  gold  here  and  gold  there.  We 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  55 

went  wherever  the  crowd  rushed,  but  we  were  never  BO  for- 
tunate as  to  get  rich,  though  many  of  our  fellow  advent 
turers  did.  In  all  our  wanderings  my  father  found  time  to 
teach  me  the  elementary  branches  of  English  education. 
He  gave  me  also  much  information  about  our  family.  He 
had  not  heard  directly  from  them  for  years,  when,  one  day, 
an  Englishman  came  into  the  camp,  while  we  were  in  Buz- 
zard Gulch,  and  in  him  my  father  recognized  an  agricul- 
tural laborer  from  the  Haymore  estate.  The  meeting  was 
really  a  joyful  one  between  the  gentleman  and  the  peasant. 
My  father  was  so  delighted  to  see  some  one  from  his  own 
neighborhood  who  could  give  him  news  of  his"  home:  and 
the  man,  Stott,  was  so  overjoyed  to  find  out  there  in  the 
wilderness,  among  total  strangers,  one  whom  he  had  known 
from  his  childhood  up.  From  Stott  my  father  learned  that 
his  father  was  still  in  fine  health  and  spirits,  that  Mr.  Colin 
was  unmarried,  but  was  the  most  famous  hunter  in  the 
West  Riding,  and  was  the  pride  of  his  father's  heart,  but 
that  the  youngest  son — Mr.  James — had  gone  to  ruin — yes, 
gone  to  ruin !  He  had  married  Amy  Dell,  the  housemaid, 
and  had  been  cast  off  by  his  father  and  compelled  to  sell 
out  of  the  army  by  the  coldness  of  his  comrades,  and  that 
he  had  since  left  England  for  parts  unknown." 

"The  Hays  seem  to  have  been  rather  addicted  to  low 
marriages,"  said  Mr.  Delamere. 

"To  love  marriages,  if  you  please.  Yes,  they  have  been, 
and  they  are  still ;  for  I  mean  to  marry  Judy,  if  she'll  have 
me,  please  the  Lord !" 

"I  think  there  will  be  little  doubt  about  the  lady's  con- 
sent." 

"I  hope  not  any.  Well,  I  think  I  have  told  you  all  I  have 
to  tell,  except  of  that  dark  day  when  I  lost  my  beloved 
father,  and  of  that  I  cannot  speak  now.  I  know  I  would 
have  given  my  life  for  his,  had  it  been  possible.  At  the 
time  of  my  dear  father's  death  there  were  two  good  lives 
between  him  and  succession  to  the  Haymore  estates.  My 
grandfather  and  his  eldest  son  were  both  in  vigorous 
health;  but  about  a  year  after  my  dear  father's  decease 
news  came,  through  a  letter  from  Stott's  father,  who  was 
gamekeeper  at  Haymore,  that  Mr.  Colin  had  been  thrown 
from  his  horse  and  instantly  killed  while  hunting.  Then  I 
knew  I  was  my  grandfather's  heir;  though  as  he  was  then 


5£  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

but  sixty  years  of  age  and  might  live  to  be  ninety,  I  did 
neither  wish  nor  expect  to  come  into  the  property  until  I 
myself  should  be  an  old  man." 

"How  long  ago  was  this  ?" 

"Why,  only  last  March." 

"So  you  see  he  did  not  long  survive  his  favorite  son." 

"No ;  and  now  I  am  going  to  Judy." 

"Stop !  Have  you  all  the  documents  necessary  to  prove 
your  identity  as  heir-at-law  of  Haymore?" 

"Every  one  of  them.  My  father  always  took  care  of 
them,  and  cautioned  me  to  do  the  same,  in  "case  they  might 

1*1*.  Jo 

be  useful. 

"When  do  you  leave  this  place?" 

"To-morrow.  I  sha'n't  wait  a  week  for  the  packman.  I 
shall  tramp  to  'Frisco  and  take  as  near  a  bee  line  to  New 
York  as  the  railway  routes  will  admit.  Ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  was  just  thinking " 

"What?" 

"How  much  more  like  the  heir  of  a  great  English  estate 
you  look  than  I  do !  My  grandfather,  as  described  to  me, 
must  have  been  your  style — a  tall,  stout,  fair  man.  My 
father  and  both  my  uncles,  as  described  by  him,  were  like 
the  grandfather  in  person — tall,  stout  and  fair.  But  as 
for  myself,  why,  I  seem  to  have  got  a  double  dose  of  dark- 
ness from  my  gypsy  grandmother  and  my  Mexican  mother. 
It  will  take  a  deal  of  documentary  evidence,  supported  by 
a  deal  more  of  personal  and  corroborative  testimony,  to 
establish  the  claim  of  such  a  little  black  fellow  as  I  am  to 
the  inheritance  of  a  great  Xorth  of  England  estate !  What 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Delamere?" 

"With  the  papers  in  your  possession,  and  with  the  wit- 
nesses you  can  bring  from  San  Francisco,  you  will  have  no 
difficulty  at  all." 

"Thank  you.  And  now,  indeed,  I  must  go  to  Judy,"  said 
Randolph  Hay,  rising  and  leaving  the  hut. 

Gentleman  Geff  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  remained  buried 
in  profound  reflection.  The  most  horrible  temptation  of 
his  wild  and  wicked  life  held  him. 


JRTHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  67 


CHAPTER  VI 

JUDY 

MIKE'S  hut  was  all  aglow  with  firelight  and  candlelight 
when  Ean  stepped  into  the  open  doorway. 

Mike  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  chimney,  smoking  a  pipe. 

Judy  sat  in  the  other,  knitting  a  yarn  sock,  and  occa- 
sionally taking  a  completed  one  from  her  lap  and  measur- 
ing it  with  the  one  in  progress,  so  as  to  make  the  pair-alike, 
stitch  for  stitch. 

She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  had  a  good  figure  and  a 
pleasing  face — a  feminine  image  of  her  twin  brother — black 
hair,  blue  eyes,  pug  nose,  large,  but  well-shaped  mouth,  fine 
teeth,  a  clear  red-and-white  skin,  and  a  mocking  smile. 

On  seeing  Ran  she  got  up  and  made  him  her  best  orphan 
asylum  courtesy,  and  said: 

"Me  duty  till  ye,  me  lord — or  is  it  Sir  Ran  ?  It's  glory 
galore  ye've  kim  into,  sure,  and  it's  very  kind  in  yer  lord- 
ship to  take  notices  av  the  loikes  av  us." 

"Now,  Judy,  stow  that !  Do  you  think  that  fortune  can 
make  any  difference  between  us?"  inquired  Hay,  in  a 
grieved  tone. 

"Sure  an'  I  know  it  niver  will,  Ran.  I  niver  misgivid  for 
a  minit  as  ye  would  be  the  same  thrue-hearted  Ran.  miner 
or  me  lord.  Sure  it's  only  fooling  I  was,"  replied  Judy, 
coaxingly. 

"Whatever  fortune  comes  to  me,  Judy,  you  will  share  it, 
or  else  I  shall  not  enjoy  it." 

"Sure  an'  I  know  that,  Ran,  as  thrue  as  if  the  holy  saints 
had  towld  me  so.  And  now  kim  an'  sit  down  an'  tell  me 
all  about  it,"  said  the  girl,  drawing  an  empty  deal  box  up 
before  the  fire,  and  turning  it  upside  down  to  form  a  seat 
for  her  lover. 

"But  Mike  has  forestalled  me  in  the  story,"  complained 
Ran,  as  he  sat  down. 

"Nivir  a  bit.  He  only  towld  me  as  ye  were  kim  into  a 
fortin  by  raison  av  being  nixt  av  kin  till  a  great  English 
estate — that's  all  he  knowed  about  it.  Now  tell  me,  avick," 
pleaded  the  girl,  as  she  resumed  her  seat  and  recommenced 
her  knitting. 


58  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Thus  urged,  Ran  told  the  story  of  his  inheritance  and  its 
discovery,  as  he  had  already  told  it  to  Gentleman  Gel?. 

"Look  at  that,  now!"  observed  Mike,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  tale.  "It  seems  to  rin  in  the  blude  av  yees  to  marry 
poor  girls." 

"My  father,  however,  married  a  lady  descended  on  both 
sides  of  her  family  from  the  noblest  of  the  oldest  Castilian 
nobility,"  Ran  explained. 

"And  ye'll  be  thinking  av  doing  the  same,  mebbe " 

"Stow  that,  Mike !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  speaking 
sternly  for  the  first  time.  "This  is  my  wife,"  he  added, 
with  a  sudden  fall  of  his  tone  into  tenderness,  as  he  took 
the  hand  of  Judy  and  held  it  fondly. 

"Sure  I  know  ye  are  thrue,  Ran,  and  if  they  was  to  make 
you  a  king  to-morrow  ye  would  still  be  thrue ;  but,  oh  !  Ran, 
ye  will  be  a  gintleman  av  quality,  and  I'm  not  fit  to  be  a 
gintleman's  wife,  and  sit  at  the  head  av  the  table  in  the 
grand  dinner  parties,  and  stand  in  the  drawing  room  and 
receive  the  quality,  and  even  make  me  riverence  before  the 
quain  herself.  Oh,  no,  Ran,  I  could  niver  do  it,"  said  Judy, 
with  a  laugh  that  ended  in  a  sigh. 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  anything  of  the  kind  would 
be  required  of  you  ?"  said  Ran. 

"Oh,  sure,  don't  I  raide  the  papers  whiniver  I  kin  git  the 
chance?  And  don't  they  be  telling  av  the  grand  doings  av 
the  grand  people?  And  how  Misthress  Sich-an-one  re- 
caived  in  vilvit  and  dimints;  and  how  President  Sich-an- 
other  did  so  and  so !  Ah !  and  I  know  more'n  ye  think  I 
do ;  and  it's  an  iliphint  ye'll  have  on  yer  hands  if  ye  marry 
me,  me  lord." 

"Do  you  really  think  I'm  a  'lord,'  Judy  ?" 

"I  dunno.  How  do  I  know?  I  only  know  as  you're  a 
thrue-hearted  lad ;  only  I'm  not  fit  for  ye." 

"Look  here,  Judy,  dear,  neither  of  us  are  qualified  by 
education  to  fill  the  place  in  the  world  to  which  we  may  be 
called.  I  have  but  the  elementary  knowledge  given  me  by 
my  dear  father  while  he  lived.  You  have  only  the  schooling 
of  the  orphan  asylum ;  but  we  are  both  young  enough,  you 
being  but  nineteen  and  I  but  twenty-three,  to  give  a  few 
years  yet  of  our  lives  to  a  proper  training.  Come,  you  and 
Mike  and  myself  are  to  be  one  family  and  share  the  same 
fortune;  there  is  to  be  no  false  pride  between  us  three.  I 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  59 

have  been  thinking  that  I  would  like  to  enter  some  college 
and  take  a  full  college  course  of  three  or  four  years,  as 
might  be  needful,  and  place  you  in  some  lady's  school  for 
the  same  time,  and  put  dear  Mike  into  anything  at  all  that 
he  would  like — only  stipulating  that  we  should  all  live  in 
the  same  town  or  city,  so  that  we  would  meet  very  often, 
and  we  should  also  spend  our  vacation  together.  And  at 
the  end  even  of  the  longest  term  I  have  mentioned,  four 
years  hence,  you  would  be  but  twenty-three  and  I  but 
twenty-seven.  Then  we  could  be  married,  and  enter  upon 
our  new  sphere  in  a  becoming  manner.  What  do  you  tKink, 
Mike?" 

"I  think,  Misther  Hay,  as  ye  are  one  av  the  most  gin- 
erous  av  gintlemin,  and  I  thank  ye.  But  aven  so,  I  think 
ye'd  betther  be  afther  getting  the  fortin  in  hand  afore 
spinding  it,"  said  No-Man's  Mike,  with  a  wink. 

"That's  as  true  as  gospel,  Mike,  so  to-morrow  morning 
by  the  break  of  day  I  am  off  to  'Frisco,  there  to  take  as 
near  a  bee  line  as  I  can  find  to  the  East,"  said  the  young 
man,  rising  to  take  leave,  for  it  was  now  late. 

"Say  sunrise,  Kan,  dear.  Not  daybreak.  Start  at  sun- 
rise for  good  luck,"  put  in  Judy. 

"All  right,  my  darling — sunrise  let  it  be." 

"And  I'll  have  brekfist  reddy  for  ye  here,  Ean.  Ye'll  not 
be  afther  stopping  to  git  it  yerself.  It  would  be  kaping  ye 
that  much — much  longer  away  from  me,  Ean,  when  we 
have  so  little  time  together." 

"Thank  you,  dear.  Yes,  thank  you  very  much.  I  will 
come  to  breakfast.  But  Mr.  Delamere  ?' 

"Oh,  he'll  be  aslape,  the  lazy  bones  av  him.  Sure  yerself 
towld  me  he's  nivir  up  till  late.  And  aven  so,  I'll  give  him 
something  to  eat  afther  ye'r  gone.  Och  hone  that  iver  ye 
should  have  to  lave  me  aven  for  a  fortin,  Ran !"  exclaimed 
Judy,  half  laughing,  half  crying. 

"Only  for  a  little  while.  As  soon  as  the  necessary  forms 
shall  be  completed  to  put  me  in  possession  of  my  property, 
back  I  rush  as  fast  as  steam  can  bring  me  to  you,  my  Judy. 
Now,  good-night." 

When  Ean  re-entered  his  own  hut  he  found  Gentleman 
Geff  still  sitting  at  the  table,  smoking  and  meditating. 

The  two  tallow  candles  had  burned  quite  low.     Ban 


60  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

lighted  two  fresh  ones  and  substituted  them  for  the  ends, 
and  then  he  asked  his  guest : 

"How  have  you  passed  the  evening  all  alone  by  your- 
self?" 

"In  philosophical  meditations,"  responded  the  guest. 

"I  thought  perhaps  that  you  would  drop  into  Ben's  sa- 
loon for  a  game  of  euchre." 

"No." 

"I  shall  have  to  turn  in  shortly,  because  I  must  be  up  by 
daybreak  in  the  morning." 

"Do  you  leave  so  early  ?" 

"At  sunrise — for  good  luck,  Judy  says." 

"Ah!" 

"Now,  Mr.  Delamere,  it  is  not  much  to  leave,  but,  such 
as  it  is,  the  cabin  is  at  your  disposal  for  a  dwelling.  I  know 
you,  a  gentleman  born  and  brought  up,  cannot  work  for 
yourself,  nor  is  it  to  be  expected  that  you  should,  but  Mike 
and  Judy  have  promised  that  they  will  do  for  you,  as  long 
as  you  shall  stay,  or  until  my  return  here." 

"You  are  very  kind.  So  are  they.  I  thank  you  all,"  said 
the  philosopher,  taking  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  while  he 
spoke  and  then  replacing  it. 

Meanwhile  Ran  Hay  busied  himself  about  the  room, 
packing  a  bag*,  and  making  other  preparations  for  his  early 
start  in  the  morning. 

Suddenly  Gentleman  Geff  threw  away  the  stump  of  his 
cigar,  and  said : 

"I  have  been  thinking,  Hay,  that  I  shall  not  care  to  stay 
here  after  you  have  left  the  place." 

Ran  stopped  packing  and  stood  up  to  listen. 

"I  have  half  a  mind  to  bear  you  company  as  far  as  San 
Francisco." 

"Oh!  have  you!"  exclaimed  Ran.  "That  will  be  jolly. 
But — you  can  never  tramp  to  'Frisco !  It's  a  hundred 
miles!" 

"Why  not?  I  made  the  pedestrian  tour  of  Europe  five 
years  ago,  and  I  have  not  lost  strength  since  then." 

"Oh !  that  indeed.    But  are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"Never  was  more  serious  in  my  life.  I  will  go  with  you 
as  far  as  'Frisco,  if  you  will  accept  my  company." 

"My  dear  Delamere,  I  shall  be  delighted,"  replied  Ran 
Hay,  in  all  sincerity. 


iWHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  61 

Then  they  talked  over  the  plan  of  their  pedestrian  jour- 
ney— the  hour  for  starting,  which  should  be  at  sunrise  the 
next  morning;  the  number  of  miles  they  should  get  over  on 
each  day,  which  was  guessed  to  be  between  twenty  and 
twenty-five,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  ground  and  other 
circumstances;  the  time  it  would  take  them  to  reach  the 
city,  which  was  estimated  at  five  days  at  furthest ;  next  and 
last,  the  arms  and  provisions  necessary  to  take  with  them. 

"I  know  the  country  well/'  said  Ran  Hay.  "If  it  keeps 
dry  we  can  sleep  outdoors  every  night.  If  it  should  rain 
we  should  be  almost  sure  to  find  a  hunter's  or  a  miner's 
cabin,  or  a  friendly  Indian's  wigwam,  where  we  could  find 
shelter  for  a  night;  or,  at  worst,  I  have  an  India  rubber 
blanket  that  is  capable  of  keeping  us  both  dry.  Then  as  to 
the  commissary  department.  We  must  take  hard-tack,  salt 
pork,  coffee  and  sugar,  and  a  box  of  matches  to  light  a  fire 
when  we  want  to  cook.  I  shall  take  no  clothing  but  what 
I  wear  on  my  person,  because  I  intend  to  get  a  proper  outfit 
at  'Frisco,  where  I  have  some  money  in  the  Miners'  Savings 
Bank.  For  defense  I  shall  take  a  couple  of  knives  and  a 
pair  of  revolvers.  Have  you  arms?  If  not  I  can  divide 
with  you." 

"I  have  a  pair  of  pistols  and  a  Damascus  dagger,"  replied 
Gentleman  Geff. 

"That  is  all  right.  Now  we  had  better  turn  in  as  soon  as 
possible,  if  we  want  to  be  in  condition  to  begin  our  walk 
to-morrow,"  said  Ran  Hay,  as  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed, 
all  dressed  as  he  was  in  shirt  and  trousers,  and  where  he 
soon  fell  asleep. 

Gentleman  Geff  remained  up  much  longer,  busying  him- 
self with  preparations  for  his  journey.  Among  other  mat- 
ters, he  carefully  examined  his  pistols,  drew  the  charges, 
cleaned  the  weapons  and  reloaded  them.  At  last  he,  too, 
went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  The  dark  temptation  still 
held  him  in  its  grip. 

With  the  earliest  dawn  of  day  Randolph  Hay  was  up  and 
about  his  last  business  at  the  gulch. 

Gentleman  Geff,  hearing  him  stirring,  also  sat  up  on  his 
bunk  and  stretched  his  arms  with  a  great  yawn. 

"Hope  you  slept  well !  I  did !"  said  Hay,  who  had  lighted 
two  candles  to  see  by. 

"Yes  P  shortly  responded  the  other. 


62  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"We  will  get  our  breakfast  in  Mike's  cabin  this  morning. 
Judy  makes  a  point  of  it.  And  it  will  be  a  better  breakfast 
than  I  could  give  you/'  continued  Ran. 

And  while  he  spoke,  the  candlelight  and  firelight  stream- 
ing out  from  the  window  and  doorway  of  the  next  hut 
showed  that  active  preparations  for  breakfast  were  going 
on  there. 

Very  soon  after  this  the  good-natured  face  of  No-Man's 
Mike  appeared  at  the  window. 

"The  top  o'  the  morning  till  ye  both,  gintlemin.  And, 
Misther  Hay,  sure  the  male's  riddy  to  be  sarved  when  ye'- 
self  is." 

"Thank  you,  Mike.  Mr.  Delamere  will  take  his  breakfast 
with  us  this  morning,  also,  if  you  please,"  said  Ran  Hay. 

"Sure,  and  I  do  plaise.  And  it's  heartily  welcome  he  ia 
to  the  bit  and  sup,"  cordially  replied  Mike. 

"Mr.  Delamere  is  going  to  walk  with  me  as  far  aa 
'Frisco,"  said  Ran. 

"The  divil  he  is !  And  it's  right  glad  I  am  as  ye'll  have 
such  good  company,  Ran,  me  bhoy.  And  that's  not  saying 
as  I'll  be  glad  to  part  wid  Misther  Delamere  at  the  same 
toime.  But  he'll  be  af  ther  kimming  back  till  us.  He'll  not 
be  going  Aist  ?" 

"Oh,  no !  He  is  going  no  further  than  'Frisco,"  replied 
Ran,  as  the  three  men  left  Hay's  cabin  to  enter  Mike's. 

Judy  greeted  the  newcomers  with  smiles  through,  her 
tears.  She  was  glad  to  hear  that  Gentleman  Geff  was  going 
along  with  Ran.  It  would  be  so  much  safer  and  pleasanter 
for  Ran,  she  thought. 

Judy  had  prepared  an  excellent  breakfast  for  the  depart- 
ing men.  There  was  as  strong  and  as  good  coffee  as  could 
be  found  anywhere  "aiste  or  wast  av  the  Rockies,"  to  use 
Mike's  own  favorite  expression;  and  though  there  was  no 
milk  or  cream,  a  rich  substitute  was  found  in  fresh  eggs 
beaten  to  a  froth  j  and  there  was  broiled  ham  and  poached 
eggs,  and  rice  cakes  and  light  rolls. 

All  made  a  hearty  breakfast,  for  all  were  young  and 
healthy,  and,  with  one  exception,  true  and  honest. 

When  the  meal  was  over  the  travelers  bade  good-by  to 
their  hosts  and  took  up  their  packs.  Gentleman  Geff  walked 
out  with  Mike. 

"That's  roight.    Lave  the  craychurs  to  say  good-by  to 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  63 

aich  other  alone,"  said  Mike,  for  Ran  had  lingered  behind 
for  a  few  last  words  with  Judy. 

"I  leave  the  hut  and  all  it  contains  to  you,  Judy,  until  I 
come  back,  and  then  neither  of  us  will  need  it,"  Baid  Kan. 

"Sure,  thin,  in  the  manetoime  I  will  take  boarders  in  it, 
and  make  money  out  av  it,"  said  Judy,  trying  to  joke  and 
laugh  through  her  tears. 

"  You  will  not  need  money.  Remember  the  fortune  com- 
ing to  you,  Judy." 

"Ay,  sure,  the  fortune!  And  the  first  thing  the  fortune 
haa  done  for  me  is  to  take  ye  away !"  She  was  on  the  brink 
of  bursting  into  tears,  but  she  governed  her  feelings. 

"Only  for  a  little  while,  darling  of  darlings,  and  then  I'll 
be  back." 

"How  long?    Oh,  tell  me  how  long?" 

"In  four  weeks,  or  five  or  six  at  the  very  furthest.  And 
I  will  write  every  week.  Now  good-by,  sweetest  heart. 
God  bless  you !" 

He  folded  her  to  his  bosom,  kissed  her  again  and  again, 
then  broke  away  and  joined  his  comrade  on  the  outside  of 
the  hut. 

Then  he  hastily  shook  hands  again  with  Mike,  and  then, 
side  by  side,  the  travelers  left  the  camp  just  as  the  sun  was 
rising. 

They  entered  the  timber  west  of  the  camp,  and  in  its 
dense  shadows  were  soon  lost  to  sight,  even  had  there  been, 
any  one  astir  at  that  early  hour  but  Mike  and  his  "Swish- 
ter"  to  watch  them  on  their  way. 

All  day  long  their  waj  lay  through  the  forest  by  a  trail 
made  for  the  pack  horses  between  the  Grizzly  and  other 
camps. 

At  noon  they  halted  near  a  spring  to  rest  and  dine. 

Ran  Hay  was  in  the  highest  spirits,  laughing,  talking, 
telling  stories  and  singing  songs.  Gentleman  Gen*  was 
silent  and  moody. 

"I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  him  ?"  thought  Ran. 
"If  he  was  one  of  the  boys,  I  might  ask  him  and  offer  to 
help  him  if  he  wants  help;  but  these  swell  gents  are  so 
touch  and  go  that  one  doesn't  know  how  to  deal  with  them." 

After  a  long  rest  they  resumed  their  walk. 

The  afternoon  was  fine,  with  a  promise  of  continued  clear 
weather.  They  walked  on,  Ran  singing,  talking,  laughing, 


64.  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

trying-  to  rouse  his  companion  from  his  gloom  without  ap- 
pearing to  do  so. 

The  sun  declined  toward  his  setting.  The  companions 
walked  slowly. 

Twilight  gathered  and  fell  sooner  and  darker  in  the 
woods  than  elsewhere. 

"I  think  we  shall  have  to  sleep  in  the  timber  to-night. 
But  it  will  be  cool  and  dry/'  said  Ran. 

"Yes,"  curtly  replied  his  companion. 

"And  we  shall  have  to  stop  at  the  first  available  spot,  for 
there  is  a  sudden  fall  of  the  ground  hereabouts,  somewhere 
before  us,  and  it  is  growing  so  dark  that  we  cannot  see  the 
way.  I — I  don't  think  we  can  go  much  further." 

"No,"  shortly  replied  Gentleman  Geff. 

"We  had  better  walk  single  file  here,  Mr.  Delamere.  The 
path  is  getting  tangled  as  well  as  narrow." 

"Very  well,  do  you  go  on  before.  You  know  the  way 
better  than  I  do." 

"All  right,"  replied  Ean,  as  he  took  the  lead. 

The  path  was  difficult,  from  the  ruggedness  of  the 
ground,  the  interlacing  of  the  timbers,  and  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  sky — for  though  countless  millions  of  stars  were 
shining  in  the  heavens  above,  and  could  be  seen  here  and 
there  through  the  interstices  of  the  upper  branches  of  the 
trees,  they  shed  no  light  upon  the  forest  path. 

Ran  walked  slowly  on  ahead,  carefully  opening  the  way 
through  the  thicket. 

Gentleman  Geff  walked  closely  behind,  keeping  his  eyes 
on  the  figure  ahead,  which  seemed  only  a  form  of  denser 
darkness  in  the  dark  around,  and  keeping  his  right  hand 
on  his  breast  pocket. 

"We  shall  soon  come  to  an  opening  now,  where  we  can 
build  our  camp  fire  and  go  to  rest,"  said  Ran,  encourag- 
ingly- 

"Yes,"  replied  Delamere,  and  he  handled  something  in 
his  left  breast  pocket,  but  did  not  withdraw  it. 

Ran's  mood  had  changed  since  the  setting  of  the  sun.  He 
was  no  longer  "gay  and  happy" ;  he  seemed  thoughtful.  He 
still  sang,  but  no  longer  "Oh,  Susannah,"  or  "Shoo  Fly," 
or  anything  like  them.  He  sang  one  of  Thomas  Moore's 
sacred  songs,  often  repeating  the  refrain  and  dwelling  ten- 
derly upon  it. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  65 

Perhaps  it  was  the  dark  woodland  scene  and  the  starlit 
sky  that  first  suggested  that  particular  song  and  wooed  him 
to  linger  fondly  over  the  refrain: 

"  'As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light } " 

A  sharp  shot  rang  out  upon  the  silent  night,  and  Ran 
Hay  fell  forward  on  his  face,  the  song  of  praise  stilled  on 
his  lips. 

Gentleman  Geff  replaced  his  pistol  in  his  pocket,  stepped 
forward  and  stooped  over  the  prostrate  form.  He  turned  it 
over,  examined  it  carefully. 

"Dead !"  he  muttered.  "Poor  devil,  his  death  was  a  hard 
necessity ;  but  I  am  glad  he  died  easy. 


'Sharp  be  the  blade  and  swift  the  blow, 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo !' 


in  every  case  of  this  sort.  Talk  of  free  agency !  What  free 
agency  had  I  in  this  ?  I  was  obliged  to  do  it.  Self-preser- 
vation is  the  first  law  of  nature.  Poor  little  devil,  though, 
for  all  that!  Bah!" 

With  these  words  Mr.  Delamere  took  up  the  leather  bag 
that  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  put  it  safely  on  one  side  and 
then  proceeded  to  rifle  the  pockets  of  his  victim. 

When  this  was  accomplished,  and  he  had  taken  possession 
of  everything  of  value  on  the  person  of  poor  Ran,  he  began 
to  push  and  roll  the  body  further  into  the  scrub  on  the 
right  side  of  the  path;  it  was  so  dark  that  he  could  not  see 
what  was  before  him,  when  suddenly,  with  his  last  push,  the 
body  fell  down  a  declivity  with  a  heavy  thud  as  it  struck  the 
ground. 

"The  devil  I"  exclaimed  'Delamere.  "  In  another  instant 
I  should  have  been  over  myself  and  have  broken  my  neck  I 
Poor  wretch !  Before  day  the  wolves  will  have  destroyed 
his  body  or  made  it  unrecognizable.  No  camping  out  for 
me  to-night.  I  must  tramp  on." 


66  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

CHAPTER  VII 

A  TERRIBLE  TRIAL 

"THANK  GOD  !"  earnestly  ejaculated  Cleve  Stuart,  "with 
the  sigh  of  a  great  deliverance,"  as  he  finished  the  letter  of 
Lamia  Leegh,  and  laid  it  down  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

This  fervent  ejaculation  of  thanksgiving  for  a  lost  for- 
tune will  scarcely  need  explanation  to  those  who  have 
watched  the  struggle  between  good  and  evil  in  the  tempted 
young  man's  mind.  They  will  understand  that  the  thanks- 
giving was  for  honor  saved. 

In  consenting  to  marry  the  young  girl  for  the  sake  of  her 
fortune,  he  had  yielded  to  the  sophistries  and  solicitations 
of  the  beautiful  and  unscrupulous  woman  with  whom  he 
was  blindly,  passionately  infatuated — just  such  a  woman 
as  has  often,  in  the  world's  history,  led  honorable  men  to 
infamy  and  destruction. 

But  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  her  baleful  influence,  and 
in  the  pure  atmosphere  of  an  innocent  maiden,  then  his  bet- 
ter nature  awoke.  His  conscience  and  his  sense  of  honor 
arose  and  led  him  to  condemn  and  despise  himself  for  the 
course  he  had  taken.  And  then  another  motive  acted  upon 
him — pity  and  tenderness  for  the  fading  girl  to  whom  he 
had  offered  himself,  and  who  had  accepted  him  with  so 
much  joy  and  gratitude. 

Often  after  his  sudden  betrothal  to  Palma  Hay  he 
thought  of  breaking  the  unworthy  bond,  but  was  held  fast 
by  the  girl's  delight  in  his  presence  and  devotion  to  himself. 
He  knew  that  she  had  given  him  her  whole  love,  yes,  even 
from  her  childhood,  and  now,  after  years  of  waiting  and 
longing,  she  was  radiantly  happy  in  the  faith  that  he  had 
given  her  his  whole  love  as  truly.  He  could  not  find  it  in 
his  soul  to  undeceive  her ;  he  could  not  break  her  heart.  He 
must  marry  her  and  make  her  happy  for  the  few  brief  days 
of  life  that  might  remain  for  her.  And  he  tried  to  deceive 
himself  with  the  thought  that  there  was  no  other  way  out  of 
his  dilemma,  and  that  he  was  justified  in  his  action.  Yet 
still  the  voice  of  conscience  whispered  uneasily  that  his 
position  was  not  one  of  honor. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  67 

The  betrothed  of  a  dying  girl  for  the  sake  of  her  fortune ! 

Now,  however,  a  way  was  opened  out  of  this  false  and 
dishonorable  situation. 

"Another  heir  turned  up !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "I 
am  glad  of  it ! — glad  of  it ! — and  glad  and  grateful  that  he 
has  appeared  in  time  to  save  me  from  a  mercenary  marriage 
— from  the  deep  dishonor  of  marrying  a  dying  girl  for  her 
money — a  dishonor  into  which  I  have  been  blindly  lured 
like  a  dupe,  under  a  spell,  but  from  which  I  am  now — 
thanks  be  to  God! — happily  delivered!  I  shall  marry 
Palma  Hay,  all  the  same,  poor  child ! — poor,  tender,  loving 
little  heart ! — but  not  for  money,  since  she  will  have  none. 
I  shall  marry  her  because  I  have  promised  to  do  so,  and  I 
shall  devote  myself  to  her,  and  divide  my  small  means  with 
her  as  long  as  she  may  live ;  but,  thank  God !  I  shall  not 
get  one  penny  with  her.  And  that  reminds  me  that  next 
week  I  must  look  out  for  employment.  My  few  hundred 
dollars  will  not  last  long  with  a  sick  wife  on  hand." 

The  clock  began  to  strike,  and  aroused  him  from  his 
reverie. 

"Nine!  I  must  go  to  Lamia,  since  she  wants  me,  and 
have  a  final  explanation  with  her,"  he  said;  and  he  arose 
and  hastily  threw  off  his  traveling  suit  and  dressed  himself 
for  the  evening,  hurried  downstairs  and  halted  a  passing 
cab,  which  he  entered,  and,  at  twenty  minutes  past  nine,  he 
found  himself  at  the  door  of  the  Vansitart  mansion. 

A  liveried  servant  admitted  him,  and  showed  him  into 
the  drawing-room. 

There  he  found  Miss  Leegh,  in  company  with  Mrs.  Van- 
sitart. 

Cleve  Stuart  made  his  bow  to  the  ladies,  and  took  a  seat. 

There  was  no  opportunity  for  a  Ute-a-teie  with  the  young 
lady ;  yet  Lamia  soon  took  up  the  subject  which  was  lipper- 
most  in  both  their  minds,  and  managed  to  conve}r  much 
information  to  Cleve  without  taking  the  third  party  anto 
their  confidence. 

"You  know  Mr.  Samuel  Walling,  of  Walling  &  Wall- 
ing ?"  she  said,  interrogatively. 

"  The  junior  partner  ?    Yes ;  I  have  met  him,"  he  replied. 

"He  is  coming  here  to-night,  by  appointment,  to  intro- 
duce his  client  and  protege,  a  Mr.  Eandolph  Hay.  Will 
you  please  tell  Mr.  Stuart  about  it,  dear  Mrs.  Vansitart? 


68  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

You  know  so  much  more  of  the  circumstances  than  I  do," 
said  Lamia,  appealing  to  her  patroness, 

"Well,  it  is  rather  a  strange  matter,"  said  the  elder  lady, 
in  explanation.  "You  must  know,  sir,  that  for  the  last  few 
weeks,  Walling  &  Walling,  under  advice  of  their  corre- 
spondents, Sothoron  &  Drummond,  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
London,  have  been  advertising  for  one  James  Jordan 
Hay,  third  son,  and  supposed  to  be  heir-at-law,  of  the  late 
John  Haywood  Hay,  of  Haymore,  Yorkshire." 

"I  have  seen  such  an  advertisement,"  said  the  young 
man. 

Lamia  Leegh  gave  him  a  warning  glance,  as  if  to  say : 

"Be  careful  how  much  you  admit." 

"Well,"  continued  the  elder  lady,  "no  answers  ever  came 
to  that  advertisement,  and  the  attorneys  were  about  to 
withdraw  it  and  give  up  the  pursuit,  I  believe,  when  into 
their  office,  the  other  day,  walked  a  young  gentleman,  who 
introduced  himself  as  Randolph  Hay,  of  San  Francisco, 
only  son  and  heir  of  the  late  Cuthbert  Hay,  and  grandson 
and  heir-at-law  of  the  late  John  Haywood  Hay,  of  Hay- 
more,  Yorkshire,  England." 

"This  must  have  been  a  great  surprise  to  the  Messrs. 
IWalling,"  said  Cleve  Stuart,  seeing  that  the  lady  had 
paused  and  looked  at  him,  as  if  expecting  some  comment. 

"  It  was.  For  this  was  not  what  they  had  advertised  for. 
Cuthbert  Hay  was  known  to  have  been  killed  in  the  mining 
districts  of  California,  and  was  supposed  to  have  died  un- 
married." 

"Did  this  claimant  bring  proofs  of  his  identity  as  the 
legal  son  and  heir  of  Cuthbert  Hay  ?" 

"Abundant  proof:  the  certificate  of  the  marriage  of  his 
father  and  mother,  and  of  his  own  birth  and  baptism,  and 
of  the  death  of  his  father  and  of  his  mother,  besides  letters 
and  photographs  of  his  family ;  and  he  is  ready  to  produce, 
in  person,  if  required,  the  Catholic  priest  who  married  his 
parents,  baptized  himself  and  buried  his  mother." 
•"I  suppose,  then,  it  is  all  right." 

".Of  course  it  is.  The  Messrs.  Walling  have  no  doubt. 
They  have  already  cabled  the  facts  to  their  correspondents 
in  London,  and  to  the  solicitor  of  the  late  squire.  They 
have  taken  up  the  young  gentleman,  and  they  are  intro- 
ducing him  everywhere.  Sam  Walling  asked  permission  to 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  69 

bring  him  here  to-night,  and — —  Here  they  come"!" 
broke  off  and  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  the  doorbell  rang. 

The  next  moment  the  footman  announced : 

"Mr.  Samuel  Walling.    Mr.  Eandolph  Hay." 

And  a  stout,  bald-headed  and  spectacled  lawyer  entered 
the  drawing-room,  closely  followed  by  the  gentleman  we 
have  hitherto  known  as  Mr.  Geoffrey  Delamere,  otherwise 
Gentleman  Geff.  Both  were  in  faultless  evening  dress — 
black  swallow-tail  coats  and  black  trousers,  white  kid  gloves 
and  patent  leather  boots. 

Mrs.  Vansitart  arose  to  receive  the  visitors. 

Mr.  Walling  presented  in  due  form: 

"Mr.  Eandolph  Hay,  late  of  San  Francisco,  now  of  Hay- 
more  Manor,  England." 

Mrs.  Vansitart  bowed,  and  said  that  she  was 

"Happy  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Kandolph 
Hay." 

She  presented  him  in  turn  to  her  friend,  Miss  Leegh,  and 
to  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart. 

Then  all  seated  themselves,  and  entered  upon  the  small 
talk  of  society.  In  this  Gentleman  Geff  was  an  adept;  the 
weather,  the  opera,  the  last  new  actress,  the  last  new  novel, 
were  all  discussed ;  nor  was  the  favorite  lecturer  or  the  fash- 
ionable preacher  left  uncriticised  or  unpraised.  The  call 
lasted  some  twenty  minutes,  and  then  the  lawyer  and  his 
client  took  leave. 

Cleve  Stuart  stayed  on.  He  was  known,  or  believed  to 
be,  engaged  to  Miss  Leegh,  and  therefore  he  was  a  privi- 
leged visitor,  free  from  the  law  of  limitation  supposed  to 
govern  fashionable  calls. 

After  the  departure  of  the  visitors  the  talk  of  the  draw- 
ing-room circle  turned  upon  the  stranger. 

"A  most  elegant  and  accomplished  gentleman,  a  patri- 
cian of  the  purest  strain,"  Mrs.  Vansitart  declared.  "What 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Stuart?" 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  would  rather  not  express  an 
opinion,  Mrs.  Vansitart,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"Ah,  now  you  pique  my  curiosity,  and  I  must  insist  on 
your  giving  us  your  opinion." 

"Then,  madam,  this  'gentleman'  impresses  me  as  belong- 
ing not  to  the  aristocracy  or  to  the  gentry,  but  to  the  swell 
mob"  said  Cleve. 


70  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Oh !  that  is  too  rude  and  harsh." 

"You  insisted  on  having  it,  madam." 

"But  I  have  noticed  that  handsome  young  men  are  al- 
ways apt  to  be  jealous  of  each  other,"  continued  the  lady, 
as  if  she  had  not  heard  the  last  remark  of  her  interlocutor. 

And  then  she  good-naturedly  made  some  trivial  excuse 
to  go  away  and  leave  the  supposed  lovers  together. 

"And  now !"  said  Lamia,  leaving  her  ottoman,  and  cross- 
ing the  room  to  seat  herself  beside  Cleve  on  the  broad  sofa. 

"Yes,  now!"  responded  the  man. 

"Oh,  what  a  narrow  escape  you  have  had,  Cleve !" 

"A  very  narrow  escape,  indeed  !" 

"I  gasp  when  I  think  of  it !  Why,  you  might  have  been 
married  now !" 

"I  thank  Heaven  that  I  am  still  free!" 

"  Oh !  so  do  I !  If  it  had  not  been  for  that  little  fanatic's 
objection  to  be  married  on  Good  Friday,  you  would  have 
been  bound." 

"But,  Lamia,"  inquired  Cleve,  with  some  feeling  of  cu- 
riosity, "how  did  you  know  that  the  child  objected  to  being 
married  on  Good  Friday?" 

"Oh,  my  dear  Cleve,  the  district  visitor,  of  whom  I  told 
you  before,  was  here  this  morning  with  a  wonderful  story. 
Mrs.  Vansitart  was  out,  and  I  alone  saw  her.  She  told  me 
of  the  fairy  prince  who  Lad  come  to  marry  Cinderella,  who 
refused  to  wed  before  Easter,  but  who  was  carried  off  to 
Arcadian  groves  to  spend  the  interval  before  the  wedding." 

"Ah!  But,  Lamia,  is  it  not  strange  that,  between  the 
calls  of  the  district  visitor  and  the  calls  of  the  Messrs. 
Walling  at  this  house,  the  existence  of  the  daughter  of 
James  Jordan  Hay  has  not  become  known  to  the  attorney  ?" 

"Why,  no;  because,  you  see,  Miss  Griffiths,  the  visitor  in 
question,  knows  nothing  of  the  girPs  previous  history,  nor 
has  she  even  got  her  name  correctly,  but  writes  it  Palmer 
Hayes.  Even  I  should  not  have  recognized  her  identity  but 
for  the  story  you  told  me  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer." 

"I  see!" 

"Well,  you  have  had  a  narrow  escape,  as  I  said  before. 
But  where  is  the  poor  little  wretch  ?" 

"  She  is  at  the  Pine  Mountain  House,  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  Hudson,  in  charge  of  a  woman  who  has  been  kind 
to  her." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  71 

"Yes,  I  know — a  Mrs.  Pole,  who  told  an  old  wooden  peg- 
maker  all  about  the  visit  of  the  fairy  prince1.  After  which 
the  peg-maker  told  the  district  visitor,  from  whom  I  got  the 
information.  But  now,  Cleve,  when  does  the  deluded  little 
fool  believe  that  you  are  going  to  marry  her?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon." 

"Eeally?  Poor  creature!  what  a.  blow  the  disappoint- 
ment will  be  to  her !"  said  Lamia,  with  a  laugh. 

Cleve  Stuart  had  been  trying  to  nerve  himself  to  tell 
Lamia  Leegh  that,  despite  the  changed  fortunes — and,  in- 
deed, with  all  the  more  satisfaction  on  account  of  the 
changed  fortunes — he  should  keep  faith  with  Palma,  and 
marry  her  at  the  appointed  time.  Also,  he  had  been  par- 
tially recovering  his  senses,  that  had  been  so  long  dazzled 
and  distracted  by  the  charms  of  Lamia  Leegh,  especially 
as  she,  since  she  had  drawn  him  into  that  conspiracy,  and 
had  begun  to  believe  him  as  unscrupulous  as  herself,  had 
thrown  off  her  disguise,  and  shown  herself  as  she  was.  But 
that  last  heartless  laugh  at  the  anticipated  humiliation  of 
poor  little  Palma  decided  him,  and  he  answered,  coldly: 

"She  will  not  have  a  disappointment." 

"Why — what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  inquired  Lamia, 
uneasily. 

"I  shall  keep  my  promise  to  her.  God  willing,  I  shall 
marry  her  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Cleve  Stuart!" 

"I  have  no  other  alternative,"  he  said,  turning  his  eyes 
away  that  he  might  not  see  the  severity  of  her  handsome 
face. 

"You  have  no  alternative!"  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  full 
of  scorn  and  anger. 

"No,  none,"  he  answered,  still  without  looking  at  her. 

"Cleve  Stuart !    Are  you  an  idiot?" 

"I  have  been  a  fool,  but  I  will  not  be  a  villain.  I  must 
keep  my  plighted  troth  to  that  poor  child." 

"Cleve  Stuart,  you  rave!  You  talk  rubbish!  Your 
'plighted  troth/  indeed !  Your  plighted  troth  was  mine — 
mine !  And  it  was  only  by  my  permission  that  you  ever 
proposed  marriage  to  that  dying  pauper — a  permission 
which  I  now  withdraw.  Do  you  understand  ?  I  forbid  you 
to  marry  her!"  said  Lamia  Leegh,  losing  all  control  over 
her  temper,  and  speaking  both  angrily  and  arrogantly ;  for 


72  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

that  her  slave,  who  had  ever  hitherto  been  most  submissive 
to  her  will  and  most  obedient  to  her  words,  should  now 
revolt  against  her  authority  in  any  case,  and  most  especially 
in  such  a  personal  and  delicate  case  as  this,  was  amazing, 
incomprehensible  and  maddening  to  the  vain,  proud,  self- 
willed  beauty,  who  loved  herself  much  more  than  she  loved 
him  or  any  other  living  creature. 

"Why  do  you  not  answer  me,  sir?"  she  haughtily  in- 
quired, seeing  that  he  continued  silent,  with  downcast  eyes. 

"Lamia,"  he  began,  gravely,  and  sorrowfully,  turning 
away  his  head,  that  he  might  not  see  her  face;  for  his  soul 
was  deeply  troubled  by  this  insight  he  had  obtained  of  her 
spirit — "Lamia,  you  are  right  in  some  respects.  My  troth 
was  pledged  to  you — was,  not  is.  You  released  me  for  a 
purpose  suggested  by  yourself.  It  was  at  your  earnest 
solicitation,  and  through  your  sophistical  arguments,  that 
I  debased  my  will  and  conscience  to  seek  out  this  dying  girl 
and  marry  her  for  her  money,  that,  after  her  death,  you 
and  I  might  marry  and  share  the  fortune  between  us " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  struck  the  arm  of  the  sofa 
with  an  expression  of  intense  self-disgust  and  abhorrence, 
and  then  facing  around  upon  her,  he  said : 

"I  was  a  scoundrel  to  offer  myself  to  a  dying  girl  from 
any  such  motive,  but  now  that  she  has  accepted  me,  I 
should  be  a  much  baser  scoundrel  to  desert  her.  To  do  so 
now  that  I  know  she  is  poor  and  must  be  poor  for  her  life, 
would  be  to  sink  to  a  depth  of  infamy  of  which  even  I  am 
not  capable — although,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh  that  in  a 
woman  would  have  been  called  hysterical — "although  I 
have  lately  shown  what  Falstaff  would  term  'an  alacrity  in 
sinking'  in  that  way." 

"Cleve  Stuart !  stop  talking  such  extravagance  and  listen 
to  me!"  exclaimed  Lamia,  whose  alarm  was  beginning  to 
conquer  her  anger. 

"No  !"  he  answered,  firmly.  " On  this  subject  I  must  not 
listen  to  you !  To  do  as  you  would  have  me — to  break  with 
Palma  Hay  now,  would  be  to  commit  a  safe  murder.  You 
know,  from  what  you  have  heard  and  inferred,  that  the 
child  has  loved  me  from  her  infancy.  That  knowledge  was 
the  basis  of  your  advice  to  me,  to  seek  her  out,  to  marry  her 
on  her  deathbed,  that  you  and  I  might  afterward  enjoy 
her  fortune." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  73 

"Why  do  you  bring  up  this?"  demanded  Lamia,  angrily, 
stamping  her  foot. 

"To  remind  you  that  she  loves  and  trusts — her  betrothed 
husband — unworthy  as  he  is !  To  desert  her  now,  in  her 
weak  state,  would  be  to  hurry  her  into  her  grave,  to  commit 
a  safe  murder,  a  crime  baser  than  any  for  which  convicted 
felons  swing  on  the  gallows  or  serve  in  the  penitentiaries. 
Miss  Leegh!"  he  added,  speaking  earnestly  and  deliber- 
ately, "I  would  sooner  fire  a  church,  rob  a  bank,  murder  a 
traveler,  commit  any  crime  for  which  I.  should  risk  my  life 
or  liberty,  in  an  equal  duel  with  law  and  justice — than  per- 
petrate this  cowardly  baseness  with  perfect  impunity 
against  this  innocent  and  defenseless  child !" 

"Have  you  done?"  demanded  Lamia  Leegh,  through  her 
set  teeth  and  white  lips. 

"Not  quite!  I  wish  to  say  that  you  must  not  think  that 
I  do  not  suffer  through  all  this.  Heaven  only  knows  how 
much  I  suffer !  Yet  I  accept  the  suffering  as  a  just  punish- 
ment for  my  fault ;  and  I  am  glad,  glad  that  by  this  mar- 
riage I  shall  receive  no  benefit ;  but  rather  take  up  a  bur- 
den, which  I  mean  to  bear  cheerfully." 

"Oh,  no  doubt  of  it!"  sneered  Lamia  Leegh.  "I  dare 
say  the  girl  may  be  quite  pretty,  in  your  eyes,  and  not  near 
so  ill  as  she  is  represented  to  be,  and  she  may  come  in  for 
a  fine  slice  of  the  Haymore  estate,  after  all." 

Cleve  Stuart  let  the  sarcasm  and  insinuation  pass  un- 
noticed. 

"Have  you  anything  more  to  say  to  me?"  she  inquired, 
with  hard  lips. 

"1  think  not." 

"Then  you  will  kindly  relieve  me  of  your  presence?" 

"Certainly.  I  came  at  your  call.  I  go  at  your  com- 
mand," said  the  young  man,  rising. 

"And  please  to  understand,  Mr.  Stuart,  that  this  is  a 
final  farewell." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that;  and  I  know  that  it  is  best  it 
should  be  so,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  that  he  vainly 
endeavored  to  steady. 

"Good-by,  Lamia,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand. 

"Miss  Leegh,  henceforth,  if  you  please,  when  you  have 
occasion  to  speak  of  me — you  will  never,  after  this  evening, 


74  flVHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

have  the  embarrassment  of  speaking  to  me,"  she  said,  in 
angry  scorn. 

"It  is  better  that  I  should  not.  Good-evening,  Miss 
Leegh,"  he  said,  with  a  ceremonious  bow. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Stuart,"  she  responded,  with  an- 
other bow. 

And  they  parted. 

Lamia  Leegh  stood  where  he  had  left  her,  white  and  rigid 
with  rage. 

"I  will  make  him  repent  this — repent  it  bitterly  to  the 
last  day  of  his  life !  May  I  go  to  perdition  if  I  do  not!" 
she  hissed  between  her  clenched  teeth. 

Meanwhile  Cleve  Stuart  left  the  house.  He  did  not  call 
a  cab  or  even  enter  a  car  or  stage,  but  walked  on  down  Fifth 
Avenue  to  its  juncture  with  Broadway,  and  then  down  the 
latter  thoroughfare  toward  his  hotel — trying  by  exercise  to 
walk  off  his  mental  excitement. 

His  life  seemed  broken  off  in  its  youth,  now,  more  com- 
pletely by  tribulation  than  it  could  be  by  death.  The  part- 
ing from  Lamia  was  very,  very  bitter.  It  was  such  an 
infinite  and  everlasting  parting — worse,  more  effectual  and 
final  than  by  distance  or  by  dissolution;  for  it  was  not 
only  a  material  and  temporal  separation,  but  a  spiritual 
and  an  eternal  separation.  There  was  no  affinity,  but  an- 
tagonism, between  their  souls. 

"How  could  a  woman's  beauty,  grace  and  softness  blind 
me  to  her  moral  deformity  ?"  he  asked  himself. 

"Why  cannot  my  later  knowledge  of  her  moral  ugliness 
break  the  spell  her  beaut}7  cast,  without  giving  me  so  much 
pain?  I  never  could  unite  myself  for  life  to  one  like  her, 
so  why  should  my  life  seem  so  shattered  by  this  parting  and 
estrangement  ?  Ah !  well,  I  have  deserved  my  punishment, 
having  brought  it  all  upon  myself.  Nothing  remains  for 
me  but  to  bear  my  pain  and  to  do  my  duty.  May  Heaven 
help  me  to  be  firm  and  faithful." 

With  this  prayer  on  his  lips,  he  entered  his  hotel,  went 
to  hia  room  and  retired  to  bed,  where  presently  sleep  came 
even  to  his  troubled  soul. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  75 

CHAPTER  VIII 

A  WAITING  BRIDE 

ABOUT  the  same  time  that  Cleve  Stuart  and  Lamia  Leegh 
sat  together  in  the  parlor  of  the  Vansitart  mansion,  going 
through  their  final  explanation — Palma  Hay,  the  poor  little 
hride-elect,  reclined  an  her  resting  chair,  at  the  front  win- 
dow of  her  room  where  her  betrothed  had  left  her,  three 
hours  before. 

Near  her  sat  Mrs.  Pole  in  another  easy-chair. 

The  kerosene  light  on  the  center  table  had  been  turned 
very  low  and  seemed  now  only  a  spark  in  the  darkness  of 
the  room ;  while  seen  through  the  front  windows,  the  starlit 
night  was  beautiful  above  the  wooded  hills,  and  fragrant 
with  the  odor  of  the  pines  and  cedars, 

"Child,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  after  a  long  silence,  "it  is  late, 
it  is  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed.  You  have  not  sat  up  so  long 
for  two  months  past." 

"I  know  it,  Poley.  Not  since  the  beginning  of  my  ill- 
ness; but,  then,  I  have  never  felt  so  well — physically  I 
mean — as  I  do  to-night.  It  is  so  delicious  here.  One  must 
feel  well — in  body  at  least,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  reservation. 

"Then,  my  dear,  you  should  try  to  keep  up  that  good 
state  by  taking  care  of  yourself,  and  going  right  to  bed,  and 
to  sleep." 

"Oh,  Poley,  I  cannot,  dear.  I  would  rather  sit  here  by 
the  window  and  watch  the  stars,  shining  over  the  wooded 
hills.  If  I  were  to  go  to  bed,  I  could  not  sleep.  Oh,  Poley, 
Poley,  I  can  keep  it  to  myself  no  longer.  I  must  tell  you  I" 
she  sighed,  and  paused. 

"Why,  what  in  the  world  is  it,  my  child  ?  What  on  earth 
should  you  have  to  tell  me  ?" 

"Oh,  dear  old  friend,  I  do  not  know  why  it  should  be, 
but  there  is  such  a  heavy  weight  on  my  heart,  such  a  dark 
shadow  over  my  mind,  as  some  impending  calamity !" 

"A  weight  on  your  mind?  What  a  notion!  It  is  only 
your  nerves,  child.  You  have  gone  through  a  good  deal 


76  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

yesterday  and  to-day,  and  your  nerves  have  given  way,  and 
that  is  a  sign  you  should  go  to  bed." 

"Oh,  I  cannot,  Poley,  dear.  You  don't  know  how  I  feel. 
Such  gloom  and  heaviness." 

"But  what  is  it  about,  child?  Anything  in  partic'lar, 
now?" 

"No,  it  is  nothing  that  I  can — make  out.  It  is  vague, 
nebulous,  horrible  I" 

"Now  I  bet  anything  in  this  world  as  it  is  nothing  at  all 
but  them  there  spring  chickens  we  had  br'iled  for  supper !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Pole. 

Palma  gazed  at  her  in  perplexity. 

"Now/'  continued  the  woman,  "there  ain't  nothing  on 
earth  as  sounds  more  dainty,  and  delikit,  and  dergesterble 
than  fresh,  young,  spring  chickens  well  br'iled.  Why,  you 
might  give  'em  to  an  infant  baby.  But,  then,  if  they  are 
too  fresh,  and  br'iled  and  eat  too  soon  after  they're  killed, 
there  ain't  nothing  in  this  world  as  sets  heavier  on  the 
stummuck  than  they  do.  I  know  that  from  my  own 
essperience !" 

"But — are  you  not  well,  Mrs.  Pole?" 

"Lord  love  yer,  chile,  I  was  speaking  of  past  essperience, 
not  present.  And,  honey,  whenever  anything  sets  heavy 
on  the  stummuck  the  stummuck  presses  the  heart,  so  an 
overloaded  stummuck  may  be  mistook  for  a  heavy  heart,  or 
even  a  broken  one,  either.  Yes,  chile,  a  lady  as  I  washed 
for  oncet  told  me  that,  when  she  'splained  that  it  was  dis- 
pepsy  as  was  killin'  me,  and  not  grief  for  poor,  departed 
Jim  Pole,  gone  to  glory  long  ago  and  how  I  must  stop 
eating  cold  pork  and  cabbage  after  a  hard  day's  work  before 
going  to  bed.  And,  chile,  she  ought  to  knowed  what  she 
was  talking  about,  for  she  was  own  aunt  to  a  mediky  stu- 
dent as  boarded  long  of  her,  and  as  I  washed  for.  Depend 
upon  it,  chile,  it's  your  undergested  supper  as  is  weighing 
on  your  sperrits !" 

"  Oh  !  no,  Poley,  dear,  it  is  not  that.  The  meal  was  good 
and  wholesome,  and  agreed  with  me  so  well  that  I  am 
almost  hungry  again." 

"Well,  then,  chile,  if  that  is  so,  you  had  better  take  your 
iced  milk  punch  and  sago  biscuits  and  go  to  bed." 

"Don't  ask  me  to  do  it,  Poley,  dear.  I  cannot!  I  feel 
as  if  some  heavy  misfortune  were  hanging  over  me — some- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  77 

thing — coming — through  Cleve,"  she  said,  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  define  the  indefinable 
dread  that  darkened  her  soul.  "And,  oh !  you  know,  Poley, 
dear/'  she  added,  "that  anything  which  should  hurt  him 
would  almost,  kill  me." 

"Yes,  chile,  I  know.  But  what  should  hurt  that  fine, 
strong  young  gentleman?  He  can  take  care  of  himself, 
and  he  will.  You  may  depend  on  that." 

"I  don't  know.  There  are  such  events  as  railway  col- 
lisions, you  know,  and  other  accidents,  also,  in  which 
strength  is  of  little  avail;  and  some  one  has  said  or  writ- 
ten that  'it  is  the  unexpected  which  always  happens.' " 

"And  that  is  just  as  true  as  if  it  had  never  been  said  or 
written.  So  make  your  mind  easy.  You  are  all  right  there. 
You  are  fearing  some  trouble,  and  therefore  it  won't  fall 
on  you.  And  you  are  not  expecting  that  everything  will 
go  well.  Therefore  Mr.  Stuart  will  arrive  here  to-morrow 
safe  and  sound.  You'll  see!  Why,  chile,  these  here  fore- 
bodin's  are  common  enough  among  young  people  who  are 
looking  forward  to  something  and  'fraid  of  being  disap- 
pointed. Why,  I  reckon  there  never  was  a  young  girl  get- 
ting ready  for  her  first  ball — let  alone  to  be  married — as 
wasn't  feard  it  would  rain,  or  somebody  would  die,  or  some- 
thing would  happen  to  disappoint  her !" 

"Is  that  really  so,  Poley?" 

"Keally  and  truly.  But  nothing  ever  does  happen  as  is 
foreboded." 

"Is  that  so,  too,  Poley?" 

"Positively  and  truly.  So  you  go  on  thinking  as  there 
will  be  a  collision  of  the  steam  cars,  or  something  else,  and 
then  Mr.  .Stuart  will  arrive  all  safe  and  well  to-morrow. 
But,  lovey,  when  he  do  arrive,  you  would  like  him  to  find 
you  looking  well  and  pretty,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  Poley." 

''Well,  then,  you  must  take  your  sago  biscuits  and  iced 
milk  punch  and  go  to  bed.  Lying  down  will  do  you  good, 
even  if  you  do  not  sleep." 

"Very  well,  Poley,  I  will,  but,  oh 

"  'Heavy,  heavy  hangs  over  my  poor  head ! ' r 

said  the  girl,  between  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  as  she  quoted  the 
line  from  a  nursery  play. 


78  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  'Hush,  Miss  Palma!    Don't  you  cry ! 
Your  sweetheart  will  come  by'n  by ! 
When  he  comes  he'll  come  in  blue, 
To  let  you  know  his  love  is  true ; 
Or  if  he  don't,  he'll  come  in  gray, 
To  say  he'll  marry  you  to-day/  " 

sang  Mrs.  Pole,  in  a  very  sweet  soprano  voice.  "You  see, 
lovey,  I  can  quote  po'try  as  well  as  you !  Now  no  more 
nonsense,  honey,  or  else  I'll  give  you  a  dose  of  chloral  as 
will  quiet  you  down  to-night,  but  make  you  look  as  white 
as  a  ghost  to-morrow  morning.  It  always  does,  devil  fetch 
it  for  a  deceiving  drug.  Now,  will  you  be  good  or  not  ?" 

"I  will  be  good  and  obedient,  Poley!  One  ought  to  be 
on  sacred,  holy  Easter  Eve,  you  know." 

"  Surely,"  responded  Mrs.  Pole,  and  she  went  and  turned 
up  the  light,  then  closed  the  shutters. 

"  Shutting  out  the  beautiful  starlit  sky  and  pine-crowned 
hills,"  said  Palma. 

"Well,  darling,  you  can't  sit  star-gazing  at  the  window 
all  night,  if  you  don't  want  to  look  like  a  stewed  witch  in 
the  morning/' 

"I  know,  Poley.  But  it  seems  such  a  pity  to  shut  out 
the  beautiful  scene !  I  could  sit  and  look  at  it  all  night,  if 
I  were  not  such  a  poor,  weak  creature!" 

Mrs.  Pole  brought  a  jug  of  milk  punch  from  the  pail  of 
ice  water  in  which  it  had  been  kept,  and  then  a  box  of 
sago  biscuits,  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

Then  she  drew  the  easy-chair,  with  Palma  in  it,  up  to 
the  board. 

"Poley,  here  is  but  one  plate  and  one  glass;  where  are 
the  others?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"My  dear,  the  punch  and  the  biscuits  are  for  you,  and 
you  will  not  require  more  than  one  plate  and  one  glass." 

"Poley!  You  are  a  horrible  old  humbug!  And  I  won't 
touch  bite  or  sup  unless  you  join  me,  and  'drink  fair,'  too, 
'drink  fair,  whatever  you  do,'  as  Sairy  Gamp  says." 

"Who's  Sairy  Gamp,  my  child?" 

"Oh,  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  her,  honey,  if  she's  fond 
of  drink.  Besides,  there's  nothing  here  for  me  to  drink  out 
of,"  added  Mrs.  Pole,  inconsequently. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  79 

"Yes,  here's  a  goblet,  Poley,  that  you  may  use." 

"And  what'llyoudo?" 

"  Bring  me  that  tumbler  from  the  washstand.  You  may 
rinse  it  out  as  often  as  you  please,  and  then  I  can  drink 
my  milk  punch  out  of  it.  I  like  a  tumbler.  It  is  so  old- 
fashioned  and  nice." 

This  was  Palma' s  not  insincere  device  to  give  the  best 
service  to  her  old  friend. 

Mrs.  Pole  washed  and  wiped  and  rinsed  the  tooth-brush 
tumbler  full  half  a  dozen  times  before  she  brought  it  to 
Palma.  "For  nobody  knows  how  many  people  have  put 
their  brushes  into  it,"  she  said. 

There  was  much  more  of  the  milk  .punch  than  little 
Palma  needed  or  could  have  drunk,  an'd  Mrs.  Pole  knew 
that,  so  with  a  clear  conscience  she  joined  her  charge. 

When  the  little  refreshment  was  over,  and  the  table 
cleared,  Palma  said : 

"Now,  Poley,  we  will  read  the  Easter  Eve  service  to- 
gether, and  then  go  to  bed." 

"I'm  a  Methodist,  myself,  you  know,  child;  still  I  feel 
free  to  join  you  in  that." 

"Then  I  will  give  you  my  prayer-book,  Poley,  and  you 
can  read  it  with  me.  As  for  myself,  I  know  it  all  by  heart 
as  well  as  I  know  the  Lord's  Prayer,  having  taken  part  in 
it  all  my  life,"  said  Palma. 

Then  the  table  became  an  altar,  and  the  two  women  sat 
down  to  their  devotions.  The  collect,  the  epistle  and  the 
gospel  were  all  read,  with  reverent  and  devotional  voices. 
Then  the  appropriate  prayers  were  said.  And  lastly  the 
hymn  was  sung: 

"  'All  is  o'er — the  pain,  the  sorrow, 

Human  taunt,  and  Satan's  spite — 
Death  shall  be  despoiled  to-morrow 
Of  the  prey  he  grasps  to-night.' " 

"  Oh,  Poley !"  said  Palma,  when  the  service  was  over, 
"how  small  and  poor  and  unworthy  do  seem  all  our  earthly 
cares  at  such  a  season  as  this.  I  am  ashamed  to  be  anxious 
about  any  earthly  event." 

"Yes,  sister;  true;  amen;  hallelujah !"  responded  Mrs. 
Pole,  in  her  sincerest  camp-meeting  spirit- 


80  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Soon  after  this  they  went  to  bed ;  but  neither  of  the  two 
to  sleep. 

Palma  was  wakeful  because  she  was  vaguely  troubled,  she 
knew  not  why  nor  wherefore. 

Mrs.  Pole  was  wakeful  because  she  was  anxious  about  her 
charge. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  she  heard  Palma  tossing  on 
her  bed  and  sighing  profoundly. 

She  listened  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  perceiving  that 
the  girl  was  still  restless,  she  spoke: 

"Palma,  child,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Can't  you 
go  to  sleep  ?" 

"  Oh,  Poley,  are  you  also  awake  ?  Have  I  disturbed  you  ? 
Oh !  it  was  so  selfish  and  thoughtless  in  me  to  disturb  you. 
I  am  so  sorry,  Poley,"  said  the  girl,  in  sincere  contrition. 

" Never  mind  me,  deary.  Keeping  awake  won't  hurt  me, 
once  in  a  way — won't  hurt  me  much.  But  can't  you  go  to 
sleep,  honey  ?" 

"No,  I  cannot — I  cannot." 

"But  why  can't  you?" 

"I  am  haunted." 

"Haunted?" 

"Yes,  haunted." 

"By  what,  for  goodness'  sake,  child  ?  There  be  no  ghosts 
nor  nothing  in  this  pleasant  house,  so  what  should  you  be 
haunted  by  ?" 

"  Oh,  by  dreams  and  visions  so  gloomy — oh !  so  gloomy, 
Poley.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  Cleve  were  in  some  deep  trouble 
or  deadly  danger.  Oh !  I  wish  it  were  morning ! — I  wish  it 
were  morning !"  replied  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Pole  got  out  of  bed,  turned  up  the  light  of  the  kero- 
sene lamp,  and  went  to  her  traveling  "physic  box,"  mutter- 
ing to  herself : 

"I'll  soon  settle  these  dreams  and  visions.  I'll  give  her 
a  dose  of  chloral.  It  will  make  her  look  awful  pale  in  the 
morning — it  always  does,  blame  it! — but  it  will  give  her 
a  good  night's  rest,  anyhow,  whereas,  if  she  don't  get  a 
good  night's  rest,  she'll  not  only  look  pale,  but  haggard  and 
torn  down,  which  will  be  ever  so  much  worse." 

So  the  nurse  prepared  the  sleeping  draught,  and  brought 
it  to  the  bedside  of  the  wakeful  girl,  saying : 

"Here,  take  this,  child.   It  is  Dr.  Ames'  own  prescription 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  81 

for  sleeplessness,  you  know,  and  it  will  give  you  rest,  so 
you  will  wake  up  well  to-morrow." 

Willingly  enough  Pal  ma  swallowed  the  sleeping  draught, 
and  was  soon  buried  in  repose. 

"I  think  I  want  one  about  as  much  as  she  does;  but  I 
don't  propose  to  weaken  my  heart.  No,  not  if  I  know  it,  I 
don't !  I  can  stand  a  night's  loss  of  sleep,  I  reckon,  though 
I  know  she  couldn't.  Very  strange,  with  all  the  arts  and 
sciences,  and  the  colleges  and  the  universities,  the  learned 
doctors  can't  find  any  medicine  to  cure  you  in  one  place 
that  don't  half  kill  you  in  another!  Now,  there's  laud- 
anum. It  will  cure  pain.  Oh,  yes!  certain  sure,  it  will 
cure  pain;  but,  then,  afterward  it  allers  gets  up  a  little 
deviltry  of  its  own  in  your  stummuck,  or  your  liver,  or 
some'ers !  And  so  with  all  the  rest,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  as  she 
turned  down  the  light  and  once  more  retired  to  bed,  and 
afterward,  fortunately,  fell  asleep. 

And  both  the  women  slept  long  and  deeply. 

Mrs.  Pole  was  the  first  to  wake  up  in  the  morning.  She 
found  that  it  was  late — that  is,  late  for  her,  a  hard-work- 
ing woman,  who  was  habitually  up  with  the  sun. 

Now  the  sunshine  was  glinting  through  the  interstices  of 
the  slats  in  the  shutters  of  the  front  windows,  and  showing 
glimpses  of  blue  sky  and  green  earth. 

Mrs.  Pole  left  her  bed  and  went  over  to  the  other  corner 
of  the  room  to  Palma's  side,  and  looked  upon  the  sleeping 
girl.  Palma  was  pale  and  fair,  as  she  lay,  "smiling  in 
delight,"  at  some  happy  dream  or  vision. 

Satisfied  with  the  inspection,  Mrs.  Pole  went  back,  made 
up  her  own  bed,  and  then  washed  and  dressed  herself,  and 
set  the  room  in  order.  There  was  light  enough  to  see  to  do 
all  that. 

"Now  the  child  has  slept  long  enough  for  her  good,  and 
I  will  waken  her  this  way,"  she  said,  and  opened  the  front 
shutters,  letting  in  a  flood  of  light. 

"Oh!  what  a  glorious  May  day!  Oh!  what  a  divine 
Easter  Sunday!  The  Eesurrection  morning  and  the  Vir- 
gin Mary's  month !  What  a  splendid  sky  above !  What  a 
lovely  earth  beneath !  Oh,  Poley !  have  I  died  and  gone  to 
heaven  ?  What  has  happened,  Poley  ?  <0h !  what  has  hap- 
pened ?"  inquired  Palma,  waking  from  her  deep  sleep  with 
a  sense  of  new  life. 


82  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

She  gazed  from  her  white  bed  all  around  the  pleasant 
room,  and  through  the  open  front  windows  upon  the  blue 
sky,  rosy  and  gold-hued  clouds,  and  the  green-wooded  hills. 

"Did  my  opening  the  windows  wake  you  up?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Pole. 

"  Oh,  no !  My  sleep  was  over.  Poley,  dear,  I  feel  so  well ! 
I  feel  as  if  I  should  get  well  and  live  long  now !" 

"All  the  phantoms  gone?" 

"What  phantoms,  Poley ?" 

"Ah!  you  have  even  forgotten  them.  The  phantoms 
that  haunted  you  last  night,  and  made  you  believe  in 
coming  evil." 

"Oh!  I  had  forgotten  them.  Yes,  they  are  all  gone.  I 
can  believe  in  nothing  but  good  this  morning  " 

Mrs.  Pole  assisted  her  to  rise,  and  put  on  the  little  faded 
blue  cambric  wrapper,  in  which  she  had  lived  since  her  ill- 
ness, then  guided  her  to  the  easy-chair  by  the  front  window, 
left  her  sitting  there,  and  went  out  and  brought  her  a  cup 
of  coffee. 

"Only  to  begin  with,  child,"  she  said.  "Breakfast  will 
be  ready  soon — fresh  mackerel,  tenderloin  beefsteak  and 
rice  waffles.  And  I  have  got  a  good  piece  of  news  for  you, 
my  dear.  You'll  have  your  Easter  service,  after  all  There 
is  one  of  your  sort  of  ministers  here — a  'Piscopal — come 
last  night.  A  very  agreeable  old  gentleman ;  too  infirm  to 
take  a  church ;  but  serves  a  pulpit  once  in  a  while.  So  the 
waiter  girls  say.  Yes,  honey,  him,  and  his  wife,  as  old  as 
himself.  She  is  kin  to  the  people  in  the  house.  So  the 
gals  told  me." 

"And  is  he  going  to  hold  an  Easter  service  here?"  in- 
quired Palm  a,  as  she  slowly  sipped  her  coffee. 

'In  the  big  parlor — yes,  child." 

'  Poley?" 

'Yes,  honey." 

'Did  you  bring  my  white  lawn  dress?" 

'Didn't  I,  honey?  And  sprinkle  and  press  it  as  smooth 
as  smooth  could  be." 

"  Thank  you,  Poley.  It  was  my  confirmation  dress,  given 
to  me  two  years  ago  by  dear  Mrs.  Barrn.  Ah,  Poley,  I 
have  had  to  sell  nearly  all  my  good  clothes  to  buy  food  and 
fuel.  But  that  dress  I  never  would  part  with.  And  now  I 
am  glad,  for  I  can  wear  it  to  the  service  this  morning,  and 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  83 

be  married  in  it  this  afternoon.  Poley,  you  will  manage  to 
help  me  into  the  parlor  and  get  me  seated  before  the  people 
come  in,  so  that  we  need  not  disturb  anybody." 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"N"ow,  Poley,  dear,  bring  the  books,  and  we  will  have 
our  morning  prayers  before  breakfast/'  said  the  little 
ritualist. 

Mrs.  Pole  believed  in  impulse  and  inspiration,  not  in 
rites  and  regulations ;  so  she  grunted,  yet  she  did  as  she  was 
requested  to  do. 

When  this  ceremony  was  over,  she  put  away  the  books 
and  said : 

"I  told  the  girls  to  set  the  table  in  here.  It  was  well 
enough  to  use  the  little  sitting-room  when  there  was  a 
gentleman  with  us.  But  you  and  me  can  be  more  comforta- 
ble here." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Poley." 

A  neat  young  waitress  came  in  and  laid  the  cloth  and 
arranged  the  table  for  the  morning  meal,  and  then  brought 
it  in. 

No  one  accustomed  to  good  meals  every  day  of  their  lives 
could  appreciate  the  luxuries  of  the  table  as  did  this  poor 
child,  who  had  been  half  starved  ever  since  the  death  of  her 
benefactress.  She  ate  with  satisfaction  and  delight,  and 
naively  said  to  her  attendant : 

"Oh,  Poley,  it  seems  as  if  every  morsel  gives  me  life." 

When  the  breakfast  service  had  been  removed,  Mrs.  Pole 
dressed  her  charge  for  church. 

"Why,  Poley,  dear,  you  have  put  a  ruffle  on  the  bottom  of 
my  dress !"  said  the  girl. 

"Had  to,  my  chile.  You  have  growed  some  in  height, 
these  last  two  years.  And  it  was  too  short  for  you.  Like- 
wise it  would  have  been  too  small  in  the  waist,  only  you 
have  dwindled  so  thin,  poor  dear.  I  bought  that  ruffle  on 
Grand  Street,  Friday  night,  when  I  went  out  shopping.  It 
was  already  pleated  and  bound,  and  it  was  twenty-five 
cents  a  yard  and  took  only  four  yards  for  your  gown.  I 
sewed  it  on  after  you  were  asleep  last  night." 

"I  ought  to  call  you  mother.  You  are  a  mother  to  me !" 
said  the  girl. 

Palma  looked  very  pretty  in  her  soft,  white  dress,  with 
an  early  white  rose,  Drought  by  one  of  the  waiter  girls, 


84  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

pinned  on  her  bosom,  and  with  no  other  ornament  but  her 
curling  black  hair,  a  lovely  contrast  to  the  pale,  pure  face. 
A  young  Saint  Agnes  she  might  have  seemed  to  an  ancient 
devotee. 

"Dearie,  you  are  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  supporting 
her  as  she  stood  before  the  dressing  glass. 

A  soft  blush  at  this  praise  stole  into  the  girl's  delicate 
cheeks  and  made  her  prettier  still,  as  she  replied : 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  might  be,  for  Cleve's  sake.  And  now,  how 
many  hours  before  he  will  be  here?" 

"Let  me  see.  It  is  ten  now,  and  he  said  he  would  be 
here  by  six." 

"Eight  hours  to  wait !    Oh,  it  seems  so  long." 

"But  you  will  have  the  beautiful  Easter  service  you  love 
so  well.  And  then  the  sermon,  and  I'll  warrant  you  the 
reverend  doctor  will  bring  out  the  best  in  his  barrel.  And 
then  dinner,  and  then  the  afternoon  sleep.  And  so  the 
time  will  soon  pass  away." 

"Oh,  no,  it  will  not — it  will  be  eight  long Oh, 

Poley !  There  he  is  now !  There  is  Cleve  coming  into  the 
porch,"  she  broke  off  and  exclaimed. 

"Sure  enough,  so  he  is.  I  wonder  what  have  brought 
him  here  half  a  day  too  soon,  and  no  parson  with  him, 
nuther?"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  with  a  sudden  misgiving  in  re- 
gard to  the  gentleman's  intentions. 

But  before  she  could  give  further  expression  to  her 
doubts,  Cleve  Stuart  had  seen  his  betrothed  through  the 
open  French  windows,  and  greeted  her  with  a  smile  and 
wave  of  hand. 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  so  much  sooner  than  I 
hoped.  Come  right  in  here !"  exclaimed  Palma,  as  she  stood 
up,  supporting  herself  by  one  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
while  she  stretched  the  other  toward  him. 

"How  lovely  you  are  looking,  my  child  !  I  never  saw  you 
look  so  lovely  as  you  do  this  morning,"  he  said,  as  he 
stepped  through  the  window  and  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her. 

•'  "If  that  is  so,  it  is  you  who  have  brought  the  miracle. 
Oh,  I  hope  it  is  not  sinful  to  say  so,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that,  on  this  Easter  morning,  the  Lord  has  given  you  the 
power  to  raise  even  me  from  the  dead." 

"Ah,  child,  I  am  unworthy — unworthy   of  your  warm 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  85 

words.  Unworthy — most  unworthy  of  your  pure  self,"  he 
said,  with  a  sigh  of  contrition. 

"Oh,  Cleve !    And  I  such  a  poor,  poor  girl !    But " 

"You  are  sweet  and  lovely  in  mind  and  person,  sweet- 
heart." 

"But  I  want  to  live  now,  for  your  sake,  so  that  I  may 
make  you  happy.  And  I  know  I  can  make  you  so  happy, 
because  I  want  to  do  it  so  much.  And  God  is  good." 

"Sit  down,  dear.  You  are  trembling  all  over,"  said 
Cleve  Stuart,  as  he  placed  her  in  her  easy-chair. 

"It  is  with  happiness,  Cleve,  with  the  full,  great  happi- 
ness you  give  me.  It  is  too  much,  you  see,  for  this  poor, 
little,  fragile  frame  of  mine,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 

"But,  sir,  you  have  not  told  us  how  you  come  so  much 
sooner  than  we  expected  you,"  said  Mrs.  Pole. 

"  Oh,  good-morning,  ma'am  !  Excuse  me  for  not  having 
seen  you  before.  The  explanation  of  my  early  arrival  is 
easy  enough.  I  saw  in  this  morning's  Trumpeter  that  the 
Eev.  Dr.  Shepherd  was  at  the  Pine  Mountain  House.  It 
was  but  a  single  line  in  the  religious  intelligence  column. 
But  it  was  enough  to  tell  me  that  I  need  not  wait  until 
after  the  morning  services  to  hunt  up  a  minister  whom  I 
might  persuade  to  accompany  me  here.  So  I  took  a  hasty 
breakfast,  caught  the  eight-thirty  train,  and  here  I  am  in 
good  time  to  attend  the  services  at  this  house,  and  marry 
rny  dear  girl  afterward." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THEIR   WEDDING 

"  OH,  yes,  and  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come  so  mucK 
sooner  than  we  looked  for  you,  and  in  good  time  for  the 
morning  service,"  said  Palma. 

"And  for  the  noontide  wedding,"  added  Cleve. 

"I  wonder  if  people  wear  bonnets,  when  they  go  to 
church  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel  they  are  stopping  at?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Pole. 

"I  don't  know,"  murmured  Palma,  looking  up  for  in- 
formation at  the  face  of  Cleve  Stuart. 


86  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Yes,"  promptly  replied  the  latter.  "I  have  happened 
to  be  in  hotels  in  the  country,  a  long  way  from  any  church, 
when  services  were  held  in  the  largest  available  room,  and 
all  the  ladies  in  the  house  wore  their  bonnets  as  if  they  had 
been  in  a  cathedral." 

"Then  I'll  go  and  brush  up  mine  and  her'n.  They  are 
both  dusty  enough,  I  reckon,"  concluded  Mrs.  Pole;  and  she 
went. 

"Cleve,"  said  Palma,  in  a  low  tone,  as  soon  as  they  were 
left  alone. 

"Well,  dear?" 

"  Oh,  Cleve,  I  am  only  just  beginning  to  realize  how  good 
and  true  you  are.  Your  sudden  visit  to  me  last  Friday  was 
such  a  joyful  surprise  that  I  was  dazzled  and  distracted,  so 
that  I  could  not  think  rationally.  I  was  delighted,  but  not 
reasonable.  Oh,  Cleve,  I  did  not  appreciate  all  your  love 
and  faith !  The  love  and  faith  that  brought  you  to  seek  me 
out  in  all  my  weakness  and  misery,  and  take  me  out  of 
purgatory  and  bring  me  into  paradise !  The  more  I  think 
of  you,  the  more  I  wonder  at  you.  Oh,  Cleve,  what  can  I 
ever  render  you  for  all  your  goodness  to  me  ?  Ah !  only 
the  Lord  who  gave  me  the  blessing  of  your  love  can  show 
me  how  to  be  grateful  enough !"  she  said,  with  tearful  eyes, 
in  a  trembling  tone,  as  she  slipped  her  thin,  white  hand 
in  his. 

He  pressed  the  given  hand,  and  held  it,  but  turned  away 
his  face  from  her  eyes,  as  he  answered,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Your  words  of  praise  hurt,  pain  me,  Palma.  If  you 
knew  all,  you  would  know  how  they  must  do  so,  since  I  am 
most  unworthy  of  them.  Yet,  though  unworthy,  I  do  mean 
to  try  to  make  you  happy,  dear  child." 

"Oh,  Cleve,  you  have  made  me  happy!  You  do  make 
me  happy — as  happy  as  anybody  can  be  outside  of  heaven. 
God  bless  you,  Cleve !  Oh,  God  bless  you  and  love  you  and 
gladden  you  forever  and  ever,  dearest  dear  Cleve !" 

He  bent  his  head  over  the  hand  he  held,  and  kept  it  bent 
as  in  prayer  or  in  humility. 

She  went  on  speaking,  for  her  heart  was  full  to  overflow- 
ing, and  "out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth 
speaketh" : 

"You  always  made  me  happy — oh,  my  guardian  angel, 
you  did !  After  I  had  lost  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  I 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  87 

was  a  poor,  little  orphan  child  in  Judge  Barrn's  house,  de- 
pending on  Mrs.  Barrn's  charity,  and,  oh !  so  sad  and  lonely 
you  came  to  live  in  the  house,  and  you  brought  me  happi- 
ness. Other  people  were  good  and  kind  to  me ;  they  fed  and 
clothed  me ;  but  you,  Cleve,  loved  and  petted  me,  and  it  was 
then,  when  I  was  a  little  child,  that  you  won  my  whole 
heart  and  soul  forever  and  ever!" 

"Who  could  help  loving  you?  You  were  such  a  con- 
fiding and  endearing  little  creature/'  said  Stuart,  pressing 
the  finger  that  he  held. 

She  took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  hugged  it  to  her 
bosom,  as  she  continued: 

"And  as  your  coming  into  the  house  was  my  first  happi- 
ness, so  your  departure,  years  later,  was  my  first  great  sor- 
row; greater  than  the  loss  of  my  parents  had  been,  for  I 
was,  at  the  time  of  their  departure,  too  young  to  fully 
realize  the  bereavement." 

She  held  his  hand  fondly  up  to  her  face,  and  then  gently 
put  it  down. 

"Do  you  remember  what  a  foolish  little  thing  I  was  in 
the  days  preceding  your  departure  ?  How  I  used  to  follow 
you  up  and  down  the  walks  of  the  garden  at  Harlem,  with 
my  singsong  of :  'Oh,  Cleve  don't  go !'  'Oh,  Cleve,  don't 
go !'  As  if  my  childish  prayers  and  tears  could  have  kept 
a  young  man  back  from  his  coveted  career." 

"I  wish  now  that  they  could  have  done  so,  my  dear.  I 
wish  I  had  never  left  the  baby  sweetheart  who  was  trying 
with  baby  hands  to  hold  me.  I  wish  I  had  never  left  you. 
I  wish  we  had  never  parted.  I  should  have  been  a  happier 
man  to-day,"  earnestly  replied  Stuart. 

"Are  you  not  happy,  then,  Cleve?  Are  you  not  happy?" 
inquired  Palma,  with  tender  solicitude. 

"More  happy,  dear,  than  I  deserve  to  be,"  replied  Stuart, 
with  a  smile  that  masked  his  troubled  face,  yet  scarcely  de- 
ceived the  searching  eyes  of  anxious  affection. 

"But  not  quite  happy?  Not  nearly  so  happy  as  you  'de- 
serve to  be' !  What  is  it,  then,  Cleve?  What  did  you  say? 
If  we  had  never  parted,  you  should  have  been  a  happier 
man  to-day?" 

"My  little  girl,  if  I  had  not  gone  to  Europe,  I  should 
not,  like  the  prodigal  son,  have  spent  all  my  patrimony." 
i     "Oh,  is  that  it?"  inquired  Palma,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 


88  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HEE? 

and  with  all  the  indifference  of  childhood  to  tke  loss  or 
gain  of  money.  "But  you  did  not  'waste'  your  'substance/ 
as  the  prodigal  son  did,  in  'riotous  living.'  You  spent  it  in 
travel  and  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  And  you  have  its 
worth  in  wisdom  and  experience.  Do  you  think  you  could 
have  'invested/  as  they  say,  to  better  advantage  ?" 

"I  think  very  likely  I  might  have  done  so,  Palma.  I 
gained  some  knowledge  and  experience,  but  I  doubt  very 
much  about  the  wisdom.  However,  this  may  be  said  of  me, 
that  when  I  went  away  I  had  no  intention  of  staying  so 
long.  In  fact,  from  month  to  month,  after  leaving  Heidel- 
berg, I  expected  to  return  home." 

"Oh,  I  remember.  It  almost  broke  my  little  baby  heart 
to  have  you  go  at  all.  If  I  had  known  what  a  lifetime  you 
would  be  absent,  I  think  it  would  have  killed  me  outright. 
Ah !  what  a  heartbroken  little  idiot  I  was  in  those  days ! 
But  Mrs.  Barrn — God  biess  her ! — always  talked  to  me  of 
your  coming  back.  I  thought  of  nothing  but  your  coming 
back.  You  were  always  coming  back.  I  grew  into  the 
happy  habit  of  looking  forward  to  your  coming  back.  But, 
Cleve,  I  must  tire  you  with  all  this  babble !"  she  said,  with 
sudden  self-reproach. 

"No,  dear,  no,"  he  replied,  passing  his  hand  caressingly 
over  her  black  hair.  "No;  I  like  these  glimpses  into  your 
true  heart.  The  time  seemed  tedious,  then,  to  my  little 
sweetheart  ?" 

"Yes;  but  it  was  brightened  and  enlivened  by  that  con- 
tinual looking  forward  to  your  coming." 

"But  how  was  it,  dear,  that  you  fell  into  such  poverty 
after  the  judge  and  his  good  wif e'died  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know !  They  were  an  aged  couple,  you  see. 
They  had  lived  so  long  together  that,  perhaps,  they  could 
not  live  apart.  Their  deaths  came  very  near  together. 
The  judge  went  first,  you  know.  I  suppose  he  left  all  that 
he  had  to  leave  to  his  wife,  and  thought,  of  course,  that  she 
would  take  care  of  me  as  long  as  she  lived.  But  she  lived 
only  a  few  days,  and  then  went  off  suddenly,  without 
having  made  any  will,  even  if  she  had  anything  to  leave. 
I  heard  it  said  that  the  creditors  had  held  off  until  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Barrn;  but,  after  the  funeral,  there  was  a 
sale,  and  everything  went  under  the  auctioneer's  hammer.'7 

"And  you,  dear  child?" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  89 

"I  was  homeless  and  destitute;  but  Mrs.  Pole — dear 
Poley  there — who  was  the  laundress  of  the  Barrn  family, 
brought  me  to  her  own  home,  and  got  needlework  for  me 
from  the  ready-made  clothing  stores/' 

"Poor  little  Palma!" 

"  Oh,  but  I  was  not  unhappy — then !  Aiter  I  had  done 
crying  for  Mrs.  Barrn  and  the  judge,  and  took  to  thinking 
of  them  as  united  in  heaven,  I  grew  quite  cheerful  and 
buoyant,  for  I  was  again  looking  forward  to  your  return 
home.  I  felt  so  sure  you  would  come  this  time." 

"And  I  did  come  this  time.  But  I  found  you  ill.  What 
caused  }^our  illness,  little  girl?"  he  inquired,  taking  her 
hand  and  gently  drawing  her  toward  him. 

She  laid  her  forehead  on  his  shoulder,  and  answered,  in 
a  low  tone,  full  of  truth,  thrilling  with  pathos : 

"I  will  tell  you,  Cleve — yes,  I  will  tell  you  now.  I  will 
confess  to  you,  who  will  so  soon  have  the  right  to  search  my 
heart  to  its  innermost." 

"Little  Palma,  I  should  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
assert  such  a  right,  or  any  other  right  that  your  love  did 
not  freely  give  me.  But  let  me  hear  what  you  wish  to  tell 
me,  dear." 

"This,  then,  was  what  made  me  ill — the  strain  of  hope, 
anxiety  and  disappointment  from  hour  to  hour,  from  day  to 
day,  and  from  week  to  week,  until  hope,  anxiety  and  disap- 
pointment were  all  merged  in  despair." 

"But  how  was  that,  dear?"' 

"I  will  tell  you.  I  was  daily  expecting  your  return.  That 
anticipation  kept  up  my  spirits.  As  the  time  for  your  ex- 
pected arrival  drew  near  I  used  to  go  every  morning  to  the 
newsstand  kept  by  a  boy  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  ask 
him  to  let  me  look  at  a  morning  paper,  to  see  the  arrivals  by 
ocean  steamers.  One  day — it  was  months  ago — I  saw 
yours.  And,  oh!  the  joy — the  overwhelming  joy — of  that 
moment,  Cleve !  You  would  hardly  believe  it.  I  grew  so 
faint  and  blind  with  joy  that  the  boy  jumped  up  and 
pushed  me  down  in  his  seat,  and  ran  into  the  shop  and 
brought  me  a  glass  of  water;  and  then,  when  I  had  partly 
recovered,  he  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  the  death  of  a  friend  in 
the  paper." 

"Dear  little  girl !  And  yet,  you  had  been  expecting  me 
so  long,  it  could  scarcely  have  been  a  surprise." 


90  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

""But  it  was — a  joyful,  overwhelming  surprise.  You  see, 
I  had  been  used  to  "looking  for  your  return  for  so  many 
years,  with  so  many  disappointments,  that  the  fact  of  your 
actual  presence  in  the  country'  gave  me  a  shock  of  delight. 
I  went  home  and  told  Poley,  and  then  I  sat  by  the  front 
window  in  the  garret  passage,  and  watched  all  the  rest  of 
the  day  for  you.  I  could  not  sew.  I  could  not  settle  my- 
self to  anything.  Oh,  you  see,  I  was  a  little  fool.  I  thought 
you  would  hurry  to  see  me  at  once.'* 

"My  poor  child,  I  would  have  done  so  if  I  had  known 
where  to  come.  I  made  many  inquiries  about  you,  but  no 
one  could  give  me  any  information.  I'  was  still  searching 
for  you  when  accident  gave  me  your  address,  and  then  I 
came." 

"It  was  through  Miss  Griffiths,  our  district  visitor, 
Cleve?" 

"Yes,  through  her  and  a  mutual — acquaintance."' 

"It  is  all  past  now;  but,  oh,  Cleve !  what  a  rack — what  a 
strain  of  anxiety  and  expectation,  hope  and  disappoint- 
ment, tortured  me  from  hour  to  hour,  from  day  to  day,  and 
from  week  to  week,  until  all  were  sunk  in  one  black  despair. 
I  thought  you  did  not  care  for  me,  and  I — did  not  care  to 
live.  I  could  not  work.  I  could  not  eat.  I  could  not 
sleep.  At  length  I  could  not  walk  or  stand.  Yet  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  with  me  but  a  great  heaviness  of  heart. 
There !  I  am  talking  too  much  about  myself.  But  I  must 
say  this  much  more.  I  prayed  that  you  might  come  to  me 
before  I  should  die.  I  prayed  even  after  I  had  ceased  to 
hope.  And,  oh !  then  when  you  came,  Cleve !  It  was  such 
an  overwhelming  delight  to  see  you !  I  did  not  dream — I 
never  did  dream — that  you  would  ever  think  of  marrying 
me,  Cleve !  But  I  thought  you  would  be,  as  in  the  old  time, 
like  a  dear,  dear,  dear  elder  brother." 

"And  would  you  rather  I  had  taken  up  again  that  role 
of  elder  brother,  instead  of  asking  you  to  have  me  for  your 
husband,  Palma?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  I  would  much  rather  we  should  be  mar- 
ried, since  you  wish  it,  and  since  now  we  need  never  be 
parted.  Oh !  dear  Cleve !  I  am  ashamed  to  have  talked  sc 
much  about  myself." 

"But  why?    I  led  you  on  to  talk,  dear  child.    I  wished 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  91 

to  know  your  heart.  It  was  only  to  me  you  talked,  remem- 
ber." 

"Yes;  only  to  you,"  she  answered,  softly. 

"Well,  Miss  Hay,  here  I  have  been  standing  for  about 
five  minutes  with  your  hat  in  my  hand,  waiting  for  you  to 
put  it  on,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  coming  from  the  other  end  of 
the  room  with  a  small  white  chip  bonnet,  simply  trimmed 
with  a  band  and  strings  of  white  mull. 

"Oh !  did  you  make  that  for  me,  Poley  ?"  inquired  Palma, 
in  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"Not  much!  I  bought  it  in  Grand  Street,  where  I  got 
the  flounces  to  eke  out  your  white  muslin  dress,  because  I 
thought  it  would  complete  the  suit.  Price  of  hat,  fifty 
cents;  price  of  lisle-thread  gloves,  twenty  ditto.  So  here 
you  are,  neatly  got  up,  if  not  so  grandly." 

"I  think  it  should  be  grandly,  since  the  items  came  from 
Grand  Street,"  said  Palma,  with  a  smile. 

"Surely!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pole. 

Just  then  a  bell  began  to  ring. 

"  That's  to  call  the  people  to  worship.  Come  along,  child, 
and  settle  yourself  in  this  chair,  and  I'll  wheel  you  in," 
said  Mrs.  Pole. 

"No,  no.  No,  no.  It  is  too  late  for  that,  now.  The  con- 
gregation are  gathering;  the  people  would  see  such  a  re- 
markable manner  of  entering.  It  would  distract  their  at- 
tention. Besides,  I  feel  so  much  stronger,  now  that  Cleve 
has  come.  I  know  I  can  walk  very  well,  leaning  on  Cleve's 
arm,"  said  Palma,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 

He  took  it  and  drew  it  over  his  arm,  and  then  looked 
down  on  her.  She  was  a  pretty  and  dainty  little  creature, 
as  she  stood  smiling  up  into  his  face,  dressed  as  she  was  in 
the  simplest  of  all  simple  ways — in  white  muslin  frock, 
with  a  broad  sash  of  the  same  material  passed  around  her 
waist,  and  tied  in  a  large  bow  behind,  and  a  white  chip  hat, 
with  a  wide  band  passed  over  it,  and  tied  ill  a  big  bow  under 
her  chin.  It  was  a  childish,  almost  an  infantile,  style  of 
dress,  but  it  was  suited  to  her ;  and  Cleve  Stuart  liked  her 
in  it. 

"She  will  be  my  child — only  my  child — as  long  as  she 
may  live,  poor  little  soul !"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  sup- 
ported her  fragile  form  as  well  as  he  could  in  leading  her 
from  the  room. 


92  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

The  great  hall  of  the  house  was  in  frequent  use  for  exhi- 
bitions of  all  sorts — for  lectures,  for  political  meetings  and 
for  concerts. 

On  this  occasion  it  was  arranged  for  divine  service.  A 
platform  and  desk  had  been  placed  at  the  upper  end,  car- 
peted and  draped  for  altar  and  pulpit.  The  communion 
table  was  also  set  in  the  space  near  the  pulpit,  and  covered 
with  the  "fair  linen  cloth"  of  the  rules.  The  body  of  the 
hall  was  provided  with  chairs,  set  in  orderly  rows,  and  leav- 
ing an  aisle  up  the  center. 

There  were  about  fifty  people  present,  gathered  from  the 
house  and  from  the  neighborhood ;  and  in  the  corner  of  the 
hall,  on  the  right  of  the  pulpit,  stood  a  parlor  organ,  at 
which  sat  a  volunteer  organist.  Standing  on  the  platform 
was  the  venerable  minister,  in  his  white  robes. 

"It  is  not  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  or  even  Grace  Church," 
said  Cleve  Stuart,  as  he  led  Palma  into  the  hall ;  "but " 

"But  it  is  sweet  and  holy  and  beautiful,  for  all  that," 
replied  Palma,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  walked  slowly  up  the 
aisle,  leaning  on  his  arm,  followed  by  Mrs.  Pole. 

He  led  her  to  a  shady  side  seat  where  she  could  not 
attract  attention,  and  where  the  three  seated  themselves. 

The  services  began  with  the  outburst  of  a  joyful  anthem, 
in  which  all  the  country  congregation  joined  most  heartily, 
if  not  quite  harmoniously. 

Then  followed  the  Scriptures,  prayers,  psalms  and  hymns 
appropriate  to  the  day,  and  Easter  songs  as  rapturous  as 
the  carolings  of  birds  in  the  wild  woodlands.  Then  came 
the  sermon,  and  lastly  the  communion  service. 

Palma,  reclining  in  her  corner,  almost  hidden  in  its 
shadows,  bore  the  fatigue  of  sitting  through  the  long  service 
because  she  deeply  felt  and  enjoyed  its  beauty  and  sub- 
limity. 

When  the  holy  writ  was  over,  and  the  benediction  was 
given,  Cleve  Stuart  led  Palma  from  the  hall  back  to  her 
room,  and  placed  her  in  her  resting  chair,  and  untied  and 
took  off  her  bonnet.  Physically,  she  looked  very  pale  and 
weary,  but  mentally  she  was  bright  and  cheerful. 

Mrs.  Pole  got  for  her  &,  glass  of  ice  cold  milk  punch. 

While  she  sipped  it,  Cleve  Stuart  said : 

"Take  care  of  her,  Mrs.  Pole,  while  I  go  out  to  find  the 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  93 

minister.    I  wish  to  get  this  ceremony  over  as  quickly  as 
possible,  so  that  my  child  may  rest." 

"Very  well,  sir.  She  shall  lie  down  as  soon  as  she  has 
finished  her  punch.  She  will  be  all  right  in  a  little  while — 
that  is,  I  mean,  as  near  right  as  we  can  hope  for  her  to  be," 
replied  the  nurse. 

Cleve  Stuart  went  straight  to  the  office  of  the  hotel,  and 
inquired  of  the  clerk : 

"Where  shall  I  find  the  clergyman  who  preached  this 
morning  ?" 

"He  is  still  in  the  hall,  alone,  I  think — resting  after  his 
labors." 

"I  will  go,  then,"  said  Cleve. 

He  found  the  reverend  doctor  still  in  his  official  vest- 
ments, reclining  in  the  chair  behind  the  reading  desk. 

Cleve  Stuart  advanced  reverently  up  the  hall,  and 
stepped  upon  the  platform. 

The  minister  arose,  and  looked  inquiringly  upon  the 
intruder. 

"Can  I  speak  to  you  for  a  few  moments,  reverend  sir?" 
asked  the  young  man. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  aged  minister,  who  now 
recognized  in  his  visitor  the  young  man  who  had  knelt  be- 
side the  fair  girl  at  the  communion  that  morning. 

With  this  permission,  Cleve  Stuart  explained  his  business 
and  told  his  story,  or  as  much  of  it  as  he  deemed  it  well  to 
tell ;  how  he  wished  to  be  married  immediately  to  the  young 
girl  whom  he  brought  to  the  house. 

The  doctor  stared,  and  did  not  forbear  to  say : 
•,      "But,  my  young  friend,  how  is  this?     She  looks  more  fit 
for  heaven  than  earth." 

"Yes,  I  know  it!" 

"And  she  is  but  a  child." 

"That  is  true.    She  is  only  about  sixteen,  I  think." 

"And  where  are  her  parents  or  guardians?" 

"  She  has  none.  They  are  all  dead  to  this  world  at  least. 
NOT  have  I  any  who  have  the  right  to  be  consulted  in  this 
matter.  My  parents  are  in  heaven  these  many  years,  and 
I  am  rather  too  old  for  guardians." 

"Yes,  I  see  that.    I  was  not  thinking  of  you,  but  of  that 
child — that  fading  child.    Where  are  her  friends?" 
k     "The  only  two  she  has  are  in  this  house  with  her,  and 


94  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

one  of  them  stands  before  you  to  ask  you  to  give  him  the 
right  to  take  care  of  her  while  she  lives." 

"Before  I  do  this,  will  you  answer  one  question?" 

" Certainly  1    Any  question  you  may  think  fit  to  ask." 

"Why  do  you  wed  her?" 

"I  thank  God,"  earnestly  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
"that  I  can  answer  that  question  now,  without  hesitation 
or  humiliation.  I  marry  her  because  I  have  known  and 
esteemed  her  from  her  childhood.  We  lived  several  years 
together  in  our  youth,  in  the  family  of  the  late  Judge 
Barrn,  of  Harlem.  I  was  his  ward.  Palma  Hay  was  his 
wife's  protegee.  I  went  to  Europe  seven  or  eight  years 
ago.  During  my  absence  the  judge  and  his  wife  passed 
away.  On  my  return  I  found  this  child,  Palma,  dying,  as 
every  one  said,  in  a  poor  tenement  house.  I  wished  to  take 
her  out  of  her  surroundings,  and  bring  her  into  healthier 
and  happier  atmospheres.  I  could  not  do  so  without  marry- 
ing her — I  had  no  right.  I  brought  her  here  yesterday,  and 
left  her  in  charge  of  a  good  woman.  I  came  here  this 
morning  to  make  her  my  wife,  though  she  may  be  dying, 
that  I  may  take  care  of  her  while  she  lives.  Now  do  you 
understand  ?" 

The  minister  dropped  his  head  upon  his  hands  and 
reflected. 

"Must  I  speak  more  plainly?  I  wed  her  because  she  is 
an  orphan,  homeless,  friendless,  destitute,  dying;  because 
she  loves  me,  and — I  love  her." 

"That  will  do.  I  will  perform  the  ceremony  with  great 
pleasure,  remembering  that  some  marriages  are  made  for 
heaven  as  well  as  'in  heaven.'  God  bless  you,  my  son," 
said  the  venerable  minister,  with  much  feeling. 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  with  all  my  soul.  When  will  it  be  most 
convenient  for  you  to  give  us  both  your  blessing  ?" 

"Whenever  you  please.  Now,  before  I  leave  this  place, 
if  you  like." 

"But  are  you  not  fatigued?" 

"No.  I  am  refreshed.  You  have  refreshed  me,  young 
sir,"  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

Cleve  Stuart  looked  perplexed. 

"It  is  not  often  that  one  meets  a  lover  so  unselfish  that 
he  wishes  to  marry  his  slowly  dying  sweetheart  solely  that 
he  may  take  care  of  her,"  said  the  minister,  in  explanation. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  95 

"Do  you  think  that  she  is  dying?"  sadly  inquired  the 
young  man. 

"My  friend,  you  must  see  for  yourself  that  it  is  so.  Even 
if  you  deceive  yourself,  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  deceive 
you.  Yet  I  think  that,  under  all  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances, you  are  right  to  marry  her.  When  do  you  wish  the 
ceremony  to  be  performed?" 

"At  your  earliest  convenience,  sir." 

"It  is  convenient  now." 

"Then,  I  will  go  and  bring  Palma." 

"And  two  witnesses,  and  some  good  man  to  give  her 
away.  Mr.  Lull  will  do  if  you  have  no  one  else." 

"I  thank  you,  doctor.  I  will  do  as  you  direct,"  replied 
Cleve  Stuart,  and  with  another  bow  he  left  the  hall. 

He  went  straight  to  Palma's  room.  She  was  lying  down 
on  the  outside  of  her  bed,  and  Mrs.  Pole  was  sitting  by 
her. 

Palma  arose  as  she  saw  him  enter.  He  went  up  to  her  and 
took  her  hand. 

"Do  you  feel  well  enough  to  go  through  the  marriage 
ceremony  now,  dear?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  Cleve,  any  time  that  you  and  the  minister  may 
fix,"  she  replied. 

"Then  let  Mrs.  Pole  put  on  your  bonnet  and  gloves,  while 
I  go  and  find  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lull,  who  will  attend  us  as 
witnesses,"  concluded  Cleve  Stuart,  as  he  left  the  room. 

He  found  them  both  on  the  back  piazza.  He  explained 
the  situation  and  made  his  request. 

"Well!"  said  the  hostess.  "If  it  ain't  strange!  I  was 
just  saying  to  Mr.  Lull  that  if  yonder  young  lady  had  not 
looked  so  very  ill  I  should  have  taken  this  for  a  runaway 
match ;  and  so  it  is,  after  all !" 

"But  you  are  mistaken.  We  have  neither  of  us  any  one 
to  run  away  from.  I  brought  the  young  lady  for  change 
of  air,  and  we  marry  here  because  it  is  convenient.  Will 
you  be  a  witness  ?"  inquired  Cleve. 

"Oh !  with  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life,  and  so  will  Lull," 
replied  the  hostess,  speaking  for  both. 

"I  shall  also  ask  Mr.  Lull  to  do  another  favor  for  me — to 
act  as  church  father  for  the  young  lady." 

"Oh !  of  course  Lull  will  do  that.    Won't  you,  Lull?" 

"Proud  to!"  replied  the  host. 


96  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Well,  now  I  will  go  and  put  on  my  bonnet,  anvx  won't 
be  a  minute  about  it,"  exclaimed  the  landlady,  jumping  up 
and  running  into  the  house. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  dressed  for  the  occasion. 
Then  Cleve  Stuart  went  to  bring  out  Palma,  who  sat  with 
her  hat  on  in  the  easy-chair,  waiting. 

He  took  her  hand,  drew  her  arm  within  his  own  and  led 
her  out.  The  little  procession  was  soon  formed — Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lull  leading  the  way,  Mrs.  Pole  and  Clerk  Lull  com- 
ing next,  and  Cleve  Stuart  and  Palma  Hay  bringing  up 
the  rear. 

So  they  entered,  and  passed  up  the  hall  to  the  front  of 
the  improvised  altar,  where  stood  the  aged  minister  in  his 
vestments,  book  in  hand. 

The  foremost  couples  parted  right  and  left,  leaving  Cleve 
and  Palma  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  semi-circle.  Cleve, 
in  a  low  voice,  introduced  his  bride-elect  to  the  minister, 
who  greeted  her  with  a  warm  pressure  of  his  hand.  Then 
vthe  young  pair  knelt  and  the  parson  opened  his  prayer  book 
and  commenced  the  rites. 

When  the  question  was  asked : 

"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this  man?" 

Lemuel  Lull  stepped  forward  proudly,  took  Palma' s  hand 
and  placed  it  in  that  of  Cleve,  saying : 

"I  do." 

The  ceremony  proceeded  to  its  conclusion,  and  then, 
when  the  benediction  had  been  pronounced  and  the  written 
certificate  of  marriage  had  been  given  to  the  bride,  and  the 
minister's  official  work  was  all  over,  he  still  added  some 
words  of  comfort  and  encouragement  to  the  pale  bride  and 
the  troubled  bridegroom. 

"Now  you  must,  all  of  you,  come  right  into  my  private 
parlor,  and  open  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  honor  of  this 
occasion.  And,  Lull,  do  you  go  down  in  the  cellar  and 
fetch  one  of  the  best  of  Heidsieck.  Yes,  I  insist  on  it !" 
said  tne  landlady,  when  they  had  left  the  hall. 

And  she  led  the  way  to  her  own  apartments,  followed  by 
all  the  party  except  the  reverend  doctor,  who  joined  it  some 
ten  minutes  later,  after  he  had  laid  off  his  sacred  vestments 
and  resumed  his  citizen's  dress. 

The  champagne  was  opened,  and  each,  one,  in  courtesy  to 
the  hostess,  took  one  modest  glass  and  no  more. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  97 

Then  Cleve  was  permitted  to  lead  his  bride  to  her  apart- 
ment, where  he  left  her  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Pole,  to  rest 
until  dinner  time. 

"Are  you  happy,  dear  ?"  he  whispered,  as  he  took  off  her 
little  white  hat  and  laid  her  back  in  her  chair. 

^Oh,  Cleve!  in  a  heaven  of  perfect  peace  and  rest  and 
trust,"  she  answered,  taking  his  hand  and  pressing  it  to  her 
.heart  and  to  her  lips.  "And  you,  Cleve?  -Are  you  happy?" 
she  inquired,  with  strange  wistfulness. 

"Much  happier,  dear  child,  than  I  deserve  to  be." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that !  You  deserve — you  deserve — all  the 
happiness  in  this  world  and  heaven  in  the  next !" 

"Little  enthusiast !  If  I  escape  eternal  perdition  I  shall 
do  well.  But,  there — I  have  shocked  you.  Try  tb  rest  and 
sleep  now  until  dinner,"  he  said,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
her  black  curls,  kissed  her  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  out  to  make  some  new  arrangement  with  the 
landlord. 

Meanwhile,  all  through  the  house  the  rumor  of  the 
strange  marriage  had  run.  Every  one  who  had  been  present 
at  the  religious  services  in  the  hall  remembered  the  fair, 
fragile  girl,  in  spotless  white  dress,  who  had  been  led  up  to 
the  communion  table  by  the  tall,  handsome  young  man, 
and  when  they  learned  that  this  pair  had  been  quietly  mar- 
ried after  the  morning  services  their  curiosity  to  see  them 
again  and  get  a  better  view  of  their  personalities  became 
intense.  Every  one  looked  forward  to  the  dinner  to  get 
eight  of  the  bride  and  groom. 

But  they  were  disappointed. 

The  newly  married  pair  dined  in  their  private  sitting 
room,  if  not  exactly  tete-a-tete,  yet  with  only  one  other 
companion — their  faithful  friend  and  attendant,  Mrs.  Pole. 

NOT  did  they  join  the  group  on  the  front  piazza  that 
evening.  They  sat  at  the  open  windows  of  their  own  apart- 
ment, preserving  their  own  privacy,  while  enjoying  the  eve- 
ning air  and  the  moutain  scenery,  until  a  late  hour. 

Mrs.  Pole  had  retired  earlier  to  the  new  room  engaged 
for  her,  but  had  left  a  request  that  she  might  be  called  at 
any  time  of  the  night  if  her  services  should  be  required  for 
the  delicate  invalid. 

But  Cleve  Stuart  had  begged  her  to  rest  well,  as  ke  him- 
self was  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  his  wife. 


98  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

And  for  many  days  Cleve  Stuart,  the  favorite  of  fashion, 
was  missed  from  the  drawing  rooms  and  clubs  of  the  Em- 
pire City. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CIRCE  AT  WORK 

CLEVE  STUART  had  not  failed  to  send  a  notice  of  his  mar- 
riage to  all  the  city  papers. 

So  on  Monday  morning  Lamia  Leegh,  looking  over  the 
columns  of  the  Trumpeter,  lighted  upon  these  lines  in  the 
list  of  marriage  notices: 

"STUART-HAY. — At  Pine  Mountain  House,  on  Sunday, 
May  1st,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Shepherd,  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart,  of 
Cypress  Shades,  Mississippi,  to  Miss  Palma  Christa  Hay, 
only  daughter  of  the  late  Capt.  James  Jordan  Hay,  of 
Haywood,  England." 

"So  it  is  done/'  she  said,  and  she  set  her  teeth  and 
clenched  her  fists  in  impotent  rage. 

But  that  was  not  all. 

Where  do  not  the  newspaper  reporters  go?  What  do 
they  not  know?  They  seemed  to  be  omnipresent  and  om- 
niscient. And,  like  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale,  invisible, 
when  most  active. 

A  reporter  had  evidently  been  at  the  Pine  Mountain 
House  on  Easter  Sunday,  for  on  another  page  of  the  news- 
paper was  a  very  sensational  paragraph,  headed : 

"A   ROMANTIC   MARRIAGE  ON   THE    HUDSON 

"A  Very  Affecting  Ceremony — A  young  Southern  gen- 
tleman returns  from  Europe  after  many  years'  absence,  to 
find  the  little  sweetheart  of  his  boyhood  dying  of  decline 
and  marries  her,  that  he  may  be  with  and  take  care  of  her 
in  her  last  hours." 

Then  followed  a  detailed  description  of  the  wedding  of 
Cleve  Stuart  and  Palma  Hay. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  99 

Lamia  Leegh  read  all  this  through  and  ground  her  teeth. 

Others  read  it  also.  Among  them,  Miss  Leegh's  em- 
ployer, Mrs.  Vansitart. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  said  the  latter  lady,  coming  into  the 
drawing  room,  where  Lamia  sat  alone  that  morning,  "look 
at  this !"  and  she  pointed  out  the  sensational  paragraph  in. 
the  Age. 

"I  have  seen  it  in  the  Trumpeter,  and  also  in  the  Globe," 
replied  Miss  Leegh. 

"What?  This  account  of  young  Stuart's  marriage  with 
some  girl  he  had  known  in  his  boyhood  ?" 

"Oh,  yes !  In  the  dearth  of  other  news  it  seems  to  be  in 
all  the  papers." 

"But — I  had  supposed — that  he  was  engaged  to  you/' 
said  the  lady,  in  surprise. 

"Not  at  all,"  haughtily  replied  the  young  lady.  "I 
should  never  have  dreamed  of  marrying  Cleve  Stuart.  So 
far  from  that,  it  was  I  who  advised  him  to  marry  Miss 
Hay !" 

"Your 

"Yes,  madam,  I!" 

"For  what  reason,  in  the  name  of  Heaven?" 

"For  no  reason  at  all.  From  the  merest  whim.  I  chal- 
lenged him  to  do  it.  I  had  no  idea  that  he  would  take  me 
at  my  word,  but  you  see  he  has  done  so." 

"From  pique,  no  doubt.  For  whether  you  ever  dreamed 
of  marrying  him  or  not,  he  certainly  aspired  to  marry  you. 
Come,  now,  did  he  not  propose  to  you?  And  did  you  not 
refuse  him  ?"  archly  inquired  the  elder  lady. 

"A  true  woman  does  not  boast  of  her  rejected  conquests, 
Mrs.  Vansitart;  but  since  you  ask  me — yes — he  offered  me 
his  hand,  and  I  advised  him  to  bestow  it  on  his  first  love. 
You  see  he  has  followed  my  advice." 

"In  pique,  as  I  said.  Well,  as  the  poor  girl  is  dying  of 
consumption,  she  will  never  live  to  feel  the  bitterness  of 
such  a  marriage.  By  the  way — 'HayF  The  name  is  not 
common.  I  wonder  if  she  can  be  any  relation  of  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph Hay,  the  heir  of  Haymore  ?" 

"Why,  of  course.  She  is  his  first  cousin.  They  are 
brothers'  children.  Did  you  not  see  in  the  marriage  notice 
that  she  is  called  the  only  daughter  of  the  late  Capt.  James 
Jordan  Hay,  of  Haymore?" 


100  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure." 

"And  don't  you  remember  that  it  was  this  very  same 
Capt.  James  Jordan  Hay,  who  was  advertised  for,  when  Mr. 
Eandolph  Hay,  the  son  of  his  elder  brother,  turned  up  with 
his  prior  claim  to  the  heirship  of  Haymore  ?" 

"Why,  certainly.  How  stupid  and  forgetful  I  have  been. 
But,  then,  I  was  not  particularly  interested  in  the  Hay 
family.  I  wonder,  however,  if  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  is  ac- 
quainted with  his  cousin  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  even  acquainted  with  her 
existence.  And  as  young  gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  be  proud 
of  their  poor  relations,  I  for  one  shall  not  bring  her  to  his 
knowledge  in  any  way/' 

"Bless  my  soul!  Talk  of  the  evil  one,  and  you  know 
what  follows.  Here  is  Mr.  Eandolph  Hay  coming  up  the 
stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Vansitart. 

Two  minutes  later  Mr.  Eandolph  Hay  was  announced 
and  entered  the  drawing  room. 

Mrs.  Vansitart  really  had  a  pressing  engagement,  and 
so  she  slipped  away  before  her  presence  could  be  detected 
in  the  obscurely  lighted  drawing  room,  leaving  Miss  Leegh 
to  entertain  the  visitor. 

The  Easter  holidays  were  religiously  observed  by  this 
high  church  family;  so  that  there  were  no  lessons  for  this 
day,  and  the  governess  was  free  to  bestow  her  time  upon 
her  caller;  not  that  he  knew  she  was  the  governess,  or  that 
she  intended  he  should  ever  know  it,  if  she  could  prevent 
him.  She  had  "other  views." 

Lamia  Leegh  had  loved  Cleve  Stuart  as  well  as  she  was 
capable  of  loving  any  one;  but  she  had  not  loved  him  as 
well  as  she  loved  herself.  She  had  not  loved  him  enough 
to  accept  the  offer  of  his  hand  to  share  with  him  his  small, 
precarious  income.  She  had  refused  to  marry  him  until  he 
should  have  made  or  gained  money. 

For  this  end  she  had  used  all  her  great  power  over  him 
to  tempt  him  to  marry  the  supposed  dying  heiress,  Palma 
Hay,  and  she  rejoiced  when  she  thought  she  had  succeeded 
in  her  plot. 

But  when  she  discovered  that  Palma  Hay's  imaginary 
claims  to  a  firite  estate  were  set  aside  by  the  appearance  of  a 
nearer  claimant ;  when,  for  that  reason,  she  sought  to  break 
off  the  engagement,  but  found  that  the  young  man  meant 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  101 

to  be  true  to  his  betrothed — then,  and  from  that  time,  her 
love — that  was  so  much  made  up  of  self-love — turned  to 
hatred. 

Now  her  soul  was  possessed  by  two  longings — to  be  re- 
venged on  her  revolted  slave,  Cleve  Stuart,  and  to  advance 
the  interests  of  her  idol,  Lamia  Leegh. 

She  thought  that  by  winning  and  marrying  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph Hay,  of  Haymore,  she  might  accomplish  both  ends — 
wring  the  heart  of  her  late  lover  and  establish  her  own  dear 
self  in  a  high  social  position. 

So  she  determined  to  use  all  her  arts  to  captivate  and 
subjugate  the  heir. 

She  received  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  with  the  sweetest  grace 
and  affability,  apologized  for  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Vansitart, 
and  hoped  that  the  unusually  warm  spring  weather  had  not 
prejudiced  Mr.  Hay  against  our  capricious  climate;  and  so 
forth. 

Mr.  Hay  replied  gallantly  that  he  could  not  regret  the 
absence  of  any  one — not  even  of  the  charming  Mrs.  Van- 
sitart— since  it  gave  him  the  great  pleasure  of  a  tete-d-tete 
with  Miss  Leegh. 

And  he  spoke  sincerely.  He  had  already  become  inter- 
ested in  the  beautiful  blonde. 

He  made  quite  a  long  morning  call,  during  which  Lamia 
Leegh  succeeded  in  deepening  the  favorable  impression 
which  she  perceived  that  she  had  made. 

He  told  her — among  other  matters  that  he  confided,  or 
pretended  to  confide  to  her — that  he  might  be  obliged  to 
sail  for  England  in  a  few  days,  unless  certain  formalities 
connected  with  his  entering  into  the  possession  of  his  estate 
could  be  arranged  by  correspondence  with  his  London  so- 
licitors. 

Miss  Leegh  expressed  much  polite  regret  at  the  prospect 
of  his  departure. 

Whereupon  he  assured  her,  in  all  earnestness,  that  if  he 
should  be  compelled  to  go  he  should  depart  not  only  with 
regret,  but  with  deep  sorrow,  from  the  happy  country  that 
contained  so  charming  a  friend — if  he  might  have  the  priv- 
ilege of  calling  Miss  Leegh  his  friend. 

Lamia  had  blushes,  tears  and  sighs  always  at  command ; 
but  she  had  only  known  this  man  three  days,  and  had  only 
seen  Mm  three  times — on  Saturday  evening  at  home,  on 


102  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Sunday  morning  at  Trinity  Church,  and  on  this  Monday 
morning  at  home  again ;  so  it  was  rather  too  early  in  their 
acquaintance  to  bring  such  warm  ammunition  into  play. 

She  replied,,  coolly  and  sweetly,  that  she  should  alwaj^s 
esteem  it  a  privilege  to  be  called  the  friend  of  Mr.  Hay. 

By  this  you  may  see  that  they  were  getting  on  pretty 
well,  for  the  third  meeting. 

He  prolonged  his  call  until  the  return  of  Mrs.  Yansitart 
— who  looked  somewhat  surprised  to  find  him  still  there — 
and  then  he  arose  to  take  leave. 

The  elder  lady,  reflecting  that  the  visitor  was  a  stranger 
in  the  city,  from  the  kindness  of  her  heart  felt  some  com- 
passion for  him,  and  invited  him  to  come  often — to  come 
whenever  he  pleased,  without  further  notice — to  use  the 
house  as  his  own,  and  so  on. 

He  thanked  her  cordially,  bowed  himself  out,  and — after- 
ward availed  himself  of  the  privilege  she  had  given  him. 

He  called  daily,  and  sometimes  stayed  to  dinner. 

He  always  asked  for  Miss  Leegh. 

And,  though  she  might  be  in  the  schoolroom,  she  always 
received  his  card,  and  went  down  to  see  him;  for  Mrs. 
Vansitart  soon  saw  in  the  wealthy  Englishman  a  possible 
husband  for  the  beautiful  governess,  and,  in  her  great  be- 
nevolence, she  wished  to  promote  the  marriage.  So  she 
begged  Lamia  never  to  send  word  that  she  was  engaged, 
but  always  to  leave  the  schoolroom  at  any  hour  when  Mr. 
Hay  might  call  to  see  her. 

Lamia  thanked  her  considerate  friend,  and  promised  to 
use  the  privilege  she  offered  her. 

One  day,  when  Mr.  Hay  called  in  the  morning,  he  asked 
Miss  Leegh  a  question.  It  is  not  polite  to  put  questions, 
but  he  might  be  almost  excused  for  this  one : 

"Your  name  is  English.  It  is  a  Hants  name.  You  are 
related  to  the  Leeghs,  of  Edge,  in  Hants?" 

"I  am  the  niece  of  Baron  Leegh,  of  Edge  Castle,  and  the 
daughter  of  the  late  Eev.  Archibald  Leegh,  of  Edge  Vicar- 
age; but  since  the  death  of  my  pa.rents  I  have  lived  here 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vansitart,  or  traveled  with  them.  They 
were  my  guardians  during  my  minority,  and  are  like  second 
parents  to  me  now,"  said  Lamia  Leegh,  in  a  trembling  tone, 
assumed  for  the  occasion. 

"I  have  awakened  painful  associations.    Oh,  I  am  very 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  103 

sorry!  Pray,  pardon  me.  Lord  Leegh's  niece?  I  might 
have  known  it  by  your  likeness  to  the  family,"  said  Mr. 
Hay. 

"You  knew  them,  then?"  inquired  Lamia,  looking  up 
with  tearful  eyes. 

"Intimately,"  replied  Mr.  Hay. 

And  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  which  of  these  two  worthies 
were — inventing — fastest;  for  there  was  no  word  of  truth 
in  either  of  their  stories.  Mr.  Hay  nor  Miss  Leegh  knew 
nothing  of  the  Leeghs,  of  Hants,  except  through  the  pages 
of  "Burke's  Peerage." 

"But  I  did  not  come  here  this  morning,  my  dear  Miss 
Leegh,  to  inquire  into  your  pedigree,"  he  said,  handing  her 
a  card,  and  adding:  "The  accidental  sight  of  this  bit  of 
pasteboard,  bearing  your  name,  and  picked  up  from  the 
carpet,  led  me  into  an  impertinence,  I  fear,  and " 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  she  hastened  to  reply.  "Your  question 
was  a  most  natural  one,  coming  from  one  compatriot  to 
another." 

"Thank  you.  I  have  told  you  what  did  not,  now  shall  I 
tell  you  what  did  bring  me  here  so  early  this  morning?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  please,"  responded  Miss  Leegh,  with  a 
smile  that  seemed  to  imply  that  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her- 
self might  be  supposed  to  be  a  sufficiently  well  understood 
motive. 

"I  came,"  he  said,  very  gravely,  "to  tell  you  that,  after 
all,  I  shall  have  to  go  to  England.  Those  tiresome  lawyers 
insist  on  my  presence  there.  So  I  sail  on  Saturday  next  for 
Liverpool." 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  must  go,"  replied  Lamia,  and  her 
face  paled  as  she  feared  that  this  rich  prize  was  slipping 
away  from  her  hold. 

"Do  you  really  care  whether  I  go  or  stay?"  he  inquired. 
Then,  as  she  only  cast  down  her  eyes  and  sighed,  he  con- 
tinued, without  waiting  for  his  answer : 

"But  I  shall  not  stay  long.  I  do  not  intend  to  live  in 
England.  As  soon  as  my  claim  is  established,  and  I  have 
entered  into  the  possession  of  my  patrimonial  estate,  I  shall 
let  Haymore  and  return  to  this  country.  Will  you  welcome 
me  back?" 

"No  friend  of  yours  will  welcome  you  more  warmly,"  re- 
plied the  young  lady. 


104  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"And  now,  Miss  Leegh — dearest  Lamia,  if  I  may  call 
you  so — may  I  speak  on  a  subject  much  nearer  my  heart 
than  the  heritage  of  Haymore  ?"  he  inquired,  dropping  his 
voice  to  the  lowest  tones. 

Her  "silence"  gave  "consent,"  and  he  continued: 

"You  must  have  seen  the  deep  interest  I  have  taken  in 
you  from  the  first  moment  of  our  meeting.  That  interest 
has  deepened  daily.  May  I  hope  that  it  is,  in  some  small 
degree,  at  least,  reciprocated  by  you  ?" 

He  paused. 

She  gave  him  an  encouraging  glance,  and  he  continued : 

"You  understand.  I  should  leave  the  country  in  a  much 
happier  and  more  confident  state  of  mind  if  I  could  carry 
with  me  your  promise  to  become  my  wife  on  my  return." 

Again  he  paused  and  looked  at  her. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  meet  his  gaze,  and  silently  laid 
her  hand  in  his. 

"You  have  made  me  the  happiest  man  on  earth/'  he  said, 
as  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

Then  he  slipped  a  diamond  ring  on  her  finger.  And  so 
Gentleman  Geff  and  Miss  Leegh  were  betrothed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TRAGEDY  IN   THE  HOLLOW 

ON  the  night  of  the  second  of  April,  about  the  time  that 
Gentleman  Geff's  bullet  stopped  the  song  of  praise  on  Kan 
Hay's  lips,  a  stalwart  hunter  sat  at  the  door  of  his  log  hut, 
smoking  his  pipe  and  gazing  at  the  stars. 

The  hut  stood  against  a  high  wooded  bank,  on  one  side 
of  a  deep,  narrow  vale,  with  a  stream  of  water  running 
through  its  bottom. 

Suddenly  the  hunter's  reverie  was  broken  by  the  sharp 
report  of  a  pistol  from  the  forest  above  and  behind  him. 

He  started  up,  faced  about  and  listened,  but  all  was  still 
for  a  few  minutes. 

Then  came  the  crashing  sound  of  something  falling  from 
the  steep,  caught  by  the  branches  of  the  trees,  breaking 
through  them,  and  finally  rolling  down  a  dead  weight  at 
the  feet  of  the  hunter. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  105 

He  laid  down  his  pipe,  stooped  and  looked  at  the  body. 
"Jee-ru-salem  !"  he  exclaimed,  "it  is  a  man." 
Then  he  turned  the  body  over,  with  the  face  to  the  sky. 
"A  murdered  man  !"  he  added. 

He  went  into  his  hut,  lighted  a  candle,  brought  it  out 
and  peered  into  the  pallid  face,  then  holding  the  light  in  his 
left  hand,  he  opened  the  victim's  coat,  vest  and  shirt  with 
his  right,  and  found  the  latter  wet  with  blood. 

"g)hot  through  the  breast;  shot  through  the  heart,  most 
like,  poor  devil.  Only  a  boy." 

He  went  on  with  his  investigation. 
"Not  so  sure  about  that,  however.     No,  by  jingo !  the 
heart  is  beating.     Weakly  enough,  the  Lord  knows,  but 
beating." 

•  With  these  words  he  carried  the  candle  back  to  the  hut, 
stuck  it  in  a  knot  hole  in  the  wall  and  returned  to  the 
wounded  stranger. 

We  said  the  hunter  was  a  stalwart  hunter.  He  was  even 
more  than  that.  He  was  a  Hercules  in  size  and  strength, 
nerve  and  muscle,  without  an  ounce  too  much  of  nesb.  He 
lifted  the  wounded  man  as  easily,  as  tenderly,  as  a  nurse 
lifts  a  child,  and  bore  him  into  the  hut  and  laid  him  on  the 
bed  of  skins. 

Then  the  hunter  lighted  two  more  candles  and  stuck 
them  up  against  the  wall  over  the  stranger  that  he  might 
see  him  better. 

"Been  shot  through  the  breast  but  not  through  the  heart, 
the  Lord  be  praised.  But  what's  this?  A  broken  head? 
He  must  have  got  that  by  his  fall.  He  would  have  had  a 
broken  neck  as  well  if  that  fall  hadn't  been  first  broken  by 
the  trees,"  muttered  the  Hercules,  as  he  unfastened  all  the 
stranger's  clothes. 

Then  he  went  and  poured  out  some  very  bad  whisky  from 
a  stone  jug  into  a  tin  cup,  and  returned  to  his  patient,  and 
raised  the  head  with  his  left  arm,  while  he  poured  the 
whisky  slowly  into  the  mouth  with  his  right  hand.  Two- 
thirds  of  the  liquor  trickled  down  over  the  corners  of  the 
mouth ;  but  a  little  ran  down  the  man's  throat,  half  stran- 
gled him,  but  was  also  half  swallowed. 

"I  reckon  I  shall  have  to  go  to  the  fort  and  fetch  the 
surgeon,"  said  the  hunter,  laying  the  head  of  the  wounded 


106  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

man  on  his  pillow,  and  seeing  that  he  showed  no  signs  of 
returning  consciousness. 

"Yes ;  I  reckon  I  will  have  to  go  for  the  surgeon  at  the 
fort,"  he  concluded,  as  he  settled  the  limbs  of  the  stranger. 

Then  he  secured  the  candles  safely  in  the  niches  in  the 
wall,  and  went  out  of  the  hut,  closing  the  door  behind  Mm. 
He  crossed  the  stream  of  water  by  leaping  from  stone  to 
stone,  and  gained  the  other  side.  Then  he  began  to  climb 
the  wooded  bank,  until  he  gained  the  top  of  an  elevated 
plain,  where  the  trees  grew  sparsely  and  finally  ceased  to 
appear. 

He  walked  on  a  mile  or  more  over  the  open  plain  until 
he  came  to  the  outer  walls  of  the  litle  fort. 

He  could  but  dimly  see  the  wall,  built  of  upright  logs 
planted  closely  side  by  side,  forty  feet  in  height,  and  se- 
cured and  strengthened  by  heavy,  horizontal  beams, 
clamped  along  the  top. 

He  went  to  the  gate,  where  a  sentinel  stood  on  guard,  and 
who  challenged  him  with: 

"Who  comes  there  ?" 

"A  friend !"  was  the  stereotyped  answer  of  the  hunter. 

"Advance,  friend,  and  give  the  countersign.'' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  any  countersign.  But  you  know  me 
well,  Dick  Talboys.  I  am  Sampson  Longman.  There's  a 
man  shot  to  death  down  in  my  cabin,  and  I  want  the  sur- 
geon right  away." 

"What  do  you  want  of  the  surgeon  if  the  man  is  shot  to 
death?"  coolly  demanded  the  soldier. 

"Well,  because  he  ain't  quite  dead  yet,  and  the  doctor 
may  do  something  for  him.  One  never  can  tell,  while  the 
breath  is  in  a  man's  body,  how  it's  going  to  end  with  him ; 
for  'while  there's  life  there's  hope !'  But,  oh,  I  say,  it  is  a 
case  of  life  and  death,  and  I  want  the  doctor  double-quick," 
said  the  hunter,  impatiently. 

"You'll  have  to  wait  until  I  am  relieved.  Then  111  go 
and  look  up  the  surgeon." 

"How  long  will  that  be  ?" 

"Half  an  hour,  I  guess." 

"And  he  may  die  in  that  time ;  but,  I  suppose,  it  cannot 
be  helped." 

"How  did  the  man  get  shot  ?"  asked  the  soldier. 

"Don't  know.    Happened  to  be  sitting  in  the  door  of  my 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  107 

cabin,  smoking  of  a  pipe  and  enjoying  of  the  air,  when  I 
heard  the  crack  of  a  pistol  in  the  woods  over  my  head.  I 
leaped  up  mighty  sudden,  I  tell  you,  and  faced  round,  but 
didn't  hear  no  more  for  about  five  minutes;  just  then,  when 
I  was  going  to  sit  down  and  take  up  my  pipe  again,  there 
comes  something  tumbling  and  crashing  down  through  the 
timber,  and  rolling  over  right  at  my  feet.  I  knelt  down  to 
take  a  look,  and  found  the  man — a  young  man,  a  mere  boy 
— with  a  wounded  breast  and  a  broken  head.  Thought  he 
was  dead,  but  felt  his  heart  beat  faintly.  Took  him  up  and 
carried  him  in  and  laid  him  on  my  bed,  and  tried  to  make 
him  swallow  some  whisky.  No  go — or  not  much.  Couldn't 
fetch  him  to,  so  started  off  for  the  surgeon.  Oh,  say !  Let 
me  by  to  find  the  doctor,"  pleaded  the  hunter. 

"You  know  that  I  can't." 

"Well,  then,  go  for  him  yourself,  and  I  will  wait  here 
until  you  come  back." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Longman.  You  know  it  is  as  much  as 
my  life  would  be  worth  to  leave  my  post.  You  must  wait 
here  until  I  am  relieved,  and  then  I  will  go  for  Dr.  Hill 
myself." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  just  put  up  with  that,"  said  the 
hunter,  as  he  squatted  down  on  the  outside  of  the  picket 
wall,  took  out  his  pipe  and  began  to  smoke. 

But  little  more  was  said  between  the  sentinel  at  the  gate 
and  the  hunter  outside  the  walls,  until  the  corporal  of  the 
guard  passed  his  rounds  and  brought  the  relief. 

"A  wounded  stranger  lying  at  Longman's  cabin!"  ex- 
claimed the  corporal,  when  the  situation  had  been  explained 
to  him.  "Then,  Talboys,  as  soon  as  you  are  off  duty,  and 
that  will  be  in  half  a  minute,  go  and  report  the  case  to  Dr. 
Hill.  He  hasn't  turned  in  yet,  I  know." 

"And  can't  you  let  me  by  to  see  the  doctor  myself  ?"  in- 
quired the  hunter. 

"Course  not.  You  know  that  just  as  well  as  I  do,"  an- 
swered the  corporal.  "You  wait  till  you  hear  from  the 
doctor." 

Meanwhile  Talboys  scudded  off  to  the  surgeon's  quarters, 
which  adjoined  the  small  hospital,  in  the  left-hand  corner 
of  the  rear  wall.  The  door  was  open,  and  the  light  within 
showed  the  doctor  and  the  lieutenant  playing  a  game  of 
cribbage  at  a  small  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 


108  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Hearing  a  sound  from  without,  the  doctor  looked  up, 
and  saw  the  soldier,  who  immediately  saluted  and  stood  at 
attention. 

"Well,  my  man,  what  is  it  ?"  inquired  Surgeon  Hill. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  a  stranger,  lying  badly  hurt  down  at 
Longman's,  wants  help/'  replied  the  soldier. 

The  doctor  arose  instantly,  leaving  the  game  in  his  ad- 
versary's hand,  the  instinct  of  the  healing  minister  in  the 
ascendant. 

"Who  brought  the  news  ?"  he  inquired. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  Longman  himself." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Outside.  Didn't  know  the  countersign,  and  couldn't 
pass/' 

"I  will  speak  to  the  colonel.  Come  with  me.  Excuse  me, 
lieutenant.  Duty  before  pleasure,  you  know/'  said  the  sur- 
geon, as  he  took  his  cap  from  its  peg,  bowed  to  his  com- 
panion and  left  the  room. 

There  were  strains  of  music,  as  well  as  streams  of  light, 
coming  from  the  colonel's  quarters,  which  occupied  a  cen- 
tral position  within  the  courtyard. 

They  found  the  colonel,  with  his  wife  and  daughters,  and 
some  of  the  young  officers  of  the  fort,  engaged  in  a  parlor 
concert.  A  young  lady  was  seated  at  the  piano,  playing 
the  air  of  a  popular  song,  in  which  all  the  company  joined 
in  singing. 

The  doctor  entered,  bowed  and  smiled  around  the  room, 
and  then  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  apart  to  the  colonel,  who 
answered  in  the  same  low  tone. 

"A  stranger  dangerously  wounded  at  Longman's?  Cer- 
tainly, certainly,  doctor.  Take  anything  that  may  be 
needed.  Take  four  men  and  a  stretcher,  and  bring  the  man 
into  the  hospital  if  necessary.  Certainly,  doctor,  cer- 
tainly." 

The  surgeon  bowed  himself  out  of  the  colonel's  quarters, 
and,  still  followed  by  the  soldier,  went  across  to  the  gate, 
passed  through  it,  and  spoke  to  the  hunter,  whom  he  knew, 
and  obtained  from  him  a  more  particular  account  of  the 
wounded  man's  condition. 

"  'Shot  in  the  breast  and  knocked  in  the  head !  Still 
breathing,  but  unconscious !'  Yes,  we  must  take  the 
stretcher  and  bring  him  into  the  fort,  if  he  be  still  living 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  109 

when  we  reach  the  hut/'  said  the  surgeon,  in  answer  to 
T/mgman's  hurried  account. 

And  then  he  issued  his  orders. 

And  soon  a  little  procession — headed  by  the  surgeon  and 
the  hunter,  who  were  followed  by  four  privates  bearing  a 
stretcher  by  its  four  handles — issued  from  the  gate  of  the 
fort,  and  took  the  way  across  the  plain  and  down  the 
wooded  steep,  through  the  narrow  vale  and  over  the  shallow 
stream,  to  Longman's. 

In  twenty  minutes  they  reached  and  entered  the  hut. 

The  candles  were  still  burning  above  the  bed  of  skins  on 
which  lay  the  wounded,  unconscious  and  scarcely  breathing 
man. 

The  men  lowered  their  voices  and  softened  their  footsteps 
as  they  entered  what  seemed  to  be  the  presence  of  death. 

"Stand  further  off.  Let  me  have  room,"  said  the  sur- 
geon, as  he  approached  the  rude  pallet  and  knelt  beside  the 
patient. 

"More  light,  Longman,"  he  said  at  length. 

The  hunter  lighted  two  more  candles  and  stood  holding 
them  over  the  pallet. 

The  surgeon  went  on  with  his  examination. 

"Yes,  we  must  take  him  to  the  fort,"  he  said. 

And  preparation  for  the  transportation  was  immediately 
made. 

Soon  poor  Ran  was  laid  upon  the  stretcher,  which  was 
constructed  on  the  simplest  plan,  being  only  a  narrow 
breadth  of  canvas  tacked  to  two  long  poles,  the  ends  of 
which  formed  four  handles  for  the  convenience  of  lifting 
and  carrying. 

The  four  soldiers  took  hold,  and,  preceded  by  the  sur- 
geon, set  out  for  the  fort. 

In  consideration  of  their  wounded  charge,  they  walked 
very  slowly  and  carefully,  so  that  it  was  late  when  they 
reached  the  fort. 

The  surgeon,  having  the  countersign,  found  no  difficulty 
in  entering  with  his  companions. 

The  wounded  man  was  borne  at  once  to  the  hospital,  and 
laid  upon  a  prepared  table,  where  the  doctor,  with  the  help 
of  the  men,  washed  and  dressed  the  wounds  and  changed 
the  clothes  of  the  stranger,  and  nually  laid  him  on  a  clean, 
Comfortable  bed. 


lift  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

It  was  now  near  day,  and  the  doctor  only  waited  for  light 
to  perform  a  delicate  operation. 

He  sat  by  the  unconscious  man,  giving  him  such  treat- 
ment as  his  medical  science  and  experience  suggested,  until 
the  sun  arose  and  flooded  the  room  with  light. 

Then  he  sent  for  a  soldier  who  made  a  little  money  be- 
yond his  military  pay  by  acting  as  the  fort  barber. 

When  this  functionary  entered  the  room  the  surgeon  di- 
rected him  to  shave  the  head  of  the  patient  very  carefully 
and  closely. 

Without  the  least  surprise  or  hesitation  the  barber  pre- 
pared to  obey.  He  was  not  unf requently  called  upon  to  ex- 
ercise his  vocation  under  the  circumstances.  Broken  heads 
were  not  scarce  in  that  time  and  place. 

First,  the  beautiful,  silky,  black  locks  of  the  wounded 
boy  fell  under  the  shears  of  the  barber,  and  then  the  bluish 
stubble  was  reaped  by  his  razor,  and  finally  a  small  fracture 
of  the  skull,  with  an  indentation,  was  discovered. 

Here  the  barber  gave  place  to  the  surgeon,  who,  with  his 
delicate  instrument,  raised  the  small  bit  of  bone  that 
pressed  upon  the  brain  of  the  patient. 

And  now  a  wonderful,  but  quite  authentic  and  not  un- 
paralleled, circumstance  occurred. 

Kay  Hay  opened  his  dark  eyes,  and  opened  his  lips  as 
well,  and  took  up  the  refrain  of  his  song,  just  where  Gentle- 
man GerFs  bullet  had  cut  it  short.  He  sang,  though  in  a 
weak  and  quavering  voice : 

"  *We  never  saw  by  day! 
And  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day !'  " 

And  having  finished  his  refrain  he  fainted  quite  away. 

"I  never  yet  seen  nor  heern  anything  like  that  in  all  my 
experience  of  cracked  skulls/'  said  the  barber. 

The  doctor  did  not  reply.  He  was  engaged  in  applying 
restoratives  to  recover  his  patient.  As  soon  as  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  this  he  administered  a  little  concentrated  nourish- 
ment and  stimulants. 

And  then,  as  he  could  do  no  more  for  the  time  being,  he 
thought  of  the  minor  duty  of  searching  the  strangers  cloth- 
ing for  some  clew  to  his  identity. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  Ill 

So  he  took  up  poor  Ran's  coarse  coat,  vest  and  trousers, 
and  searched  them  carefully  all  through.  But  evidently 
the  pockets  had  been  rifled,  for  there  was  nothing — abso- 
lutely nothing — not  even  a  pipe,  or  a  quid  of  tobacco  to  be 
found. 

"The  man  has  been  robbed,  as  well  as  half  murdered." 

"We  must  question  Longman  more  closely  to-morrow, 
and  I  hope  also  that  this  poor  fellow,  if  he  should  recover, 
will  be  able  to  give  us  some  clew  to  his  assailant,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

Very  soon  after  reveille  Longman  came  to  the  fort  to  in- 
quire after  the  stranger. 

He  was  permited  to  come  up  to  the  hospital. 

The  surgeon,  who  had  breakfasted,  met  him  and  freely 
answered  all  his  questions. 

"You  see,  I  feel  almost  responsible  for  the  poor  fellow, 
as  he  rolled  down  the  steep  anl  stopped  at  my  very  door. 
Will  he  get  over  it  ?"  the  hunter  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"Have  you  cut  out  the  bullet,  sir  ?" 

"No,  for  the  bullet  cut  out  itself,  passing  entirely 
through  the  chest  from  back  to  front  and  so  out." 

"A  very  dangerous  wound,  doctor?" 

"I  think  so." 

"And  his  head?" 

"Also  very  badly  hurt." 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  said  Hercules,  in  a  pitying  tone. 
"Poor  little  fellow.  Well,  doctor,  if  I  can  help  him  in  any 
way,  my  time,  tin  and  labor  are  at  his  service,  and  you  know 
where  to  find  me  when  wanted,  doctor." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Longman.    You  are  very  kind." 

"Not  a  bit !    And  you'll  do  it  ?" 

"Do  what,  my  friend  ?" 

"Send  for  yours  to  command,  Samson  Longman,  if 
wanted." 

"Assuredly  I  will,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"  Thanky,  doctor !  Good-morning,  sir,"  and  the  hunter 
left  the  fort. 

The  colonel's  wife  was  a  very  benevolent  little  lady.  No 
one  could  look  on  her  without  seeing  that.  She  was  a  fair, 
rosy,  plump,  little  woman,  with  a  round  face,  soft,  brown 
eyes  and  wavy  brown  hair.  She  always  dressed  plainly  in 


112  WHY^DID  HE  WED  HER? 

delicate  colors ;  for  summer — pink,  buff,  or  gray ;  and  warm 
colors  for  winter — crimson,  cardinal  or  maroon.  She  al- 
ways took  a  great  interest  in  the  sick  or  wounded  in  the 
little  hospital,  especially  as  there  was  never  more  than  one 
patient  there  at  a  time,  and  seldom  even  one. 

Very  soon  after  the  hunter  had  departed,  Mrs.  Moseley 
made  her  appearance  with  interested  inquiries  after  the 
condition  of  the  injured  man. 

"He  seems  to  be  a  mere  boy,  dear  madam,"  said  the  sur- 
geon, as  he  drew  forward  the  only  easy-chair  in  his  office 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  lady,  "and  we  have  no  clew 
to  his  identity.  The  hand  that  drew  the  trigger  on  him 
also  rifled  his  pockets." 

"Will  he  recover,  poor  lad  ?' 
"It  is  very  doubtful/' 

"Please  tell  me  all  you  know  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley. 
The  surgeon  told  the  story  he  had  heard  from  the  hunter. 
And  he  then  added : 

"The  wound  in  his  head  is  the  most  serious  one,  and  it 
was  not  received,  as  Longman  supposed,  in  the  fall  down 
the  steep,  for  that  fall  was  continually  broken  by  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  so  that  a  few"  scratches  were  the  most 
serious  consequences,  but  the  wound  was  received  in  this 
manner :  The  instant  he  was  shot  through  the  chest  he  must 
have  fallen  forward  and  struck  his  head  on  the  edge  of  a 
piece  of  rock." 

"Can  I  see  the  poor  youth  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 
"Certainly,"  said  the  surgeon,  and  he  led  the  way  to  an- 
other room  and  to  the  cot  on  which  the  wounded  man  lay 
asleep. 

The  lady  gazed  compassionately  on  the  pale,  dark,  hand- 
some face,  with  its  jet  black  eyebrows,  long  black  eyelashes, 
lying  flat  upon  the  cheeks,  and  curling  black  mustache  upon 
the  short  upper  lip. 

"Poor  fellow !"  sighed  the  colonel's  wife.  "Why,  he  is  a 
beautiful  boy !  And — his  face  seems  familiar  to  me,  some- 
how !" 

"Do  you  think,  madam,  that  you  have  ever  seen  him  be- 
fore?" inquired  the  surgeon. 

"I — don't — know.  His  face  pains  and  puzzles  me,"  she 
said,  reflectively,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead  as 
if  to  aid  memory. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  113 

?"  inquired  the  doctor,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh !  I  know  now  the  face  that  this  boy  reminds  me  of. 
It  is  that  of  Maria  Annunciatta  della  Eosa,  whom  I  used 
to  know  in  San  Francisco,  years  ago.  I  was  her  bridesmaid 
when  she -married  Prof.  Cuthbert  Hay,  who  was  professor 
of  English  in  the  Spanish  Academy  of  St.  Aloysius.  They 
had  one  child — a  son.  I  have  not  seen  him  since  he  was 
six  years  old.  There  was  a  contagious  fever  in  the  city  at 
that  time,  and  Maria  and  her  father,  Don  Jose,  died  of  it. 
Mr.  Hay  resigned  his  professorship  and  left  the  city  with 
his  child.  I  have  not*  seen  or  heard  of  either  of  them  since. 
The  boy,  if  alive,  would  be  about  the  age  of  this  youth." 

"But  do  you  think " 

"I  say  I  do  not  know.  This  young  man's  face  is  as  much 
like  that  of  my  friend,  Maria  della  Kosa's,  as  a  masculine 
face  can  possibly  be  like  a  feminine  one;  and  it  is,  more- 
over, as  much  like  old  Don  Jose's  as  a  youth's  face  can  be 
like  a  patriarch's." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,  such  likenesses  are  often  acci- 
dental," said  the  surgeon. 

"Not,  I  think,  when  there  are  such  peculiar  lines  of 
beauty  and  distinction  in  the  features.  Look  at  the  'fine 
curve  of  the  eyebrows  and  corners  of  the  eyes,  and  observe 
the  turn  of  the  lips  and  the  chin.  Oh,  no,  sir;  here  is  the 
facial  angle  of  the  old  Castilian  nobles." 

"And  you  really  imagine " 

"Stop !  I  remember  now !  I  can  settle  this  in  one  mo- 
ment," she  said,  and  she  drew  the  left  hand  of  the  injured 
man  from  under  the  coverlet  and  examined  it. 

"Well  ?"  inquired  the  doctor,  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  as  I  thought.  This  young  man  is  Randolph  Hay, 
the  son  of  my  old  friend,"  said  the  lady. 

"How  do  you  identify  him  ?"  inquired  the  surgeon. 

"By  this,"  replied  the  lady,  holding  up  the  hand  of  the 
injured  man.  "Do-  you  perceive  that  the  little  finger  of  the 
left  hand  is  but  the  germ  or  rudiment  of  a  finger  ?  It  is  a 
slight  deformity  with  which  he  was  born,  and  which  need 
not  be  seen  when  he  chose  to  hide  it  by  turning  or  half 
closing  his  hand." 

"I  see.    But  are  you  sure?" 

"Why,  of  course — absolutely  sure.  How  could  I  possibly 
be  mistaken  in  a  matter  of  this  kind  ?" 


114  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"N"ot  easily,  of  course." 

"Oh !  I  do  hope  he  will  live !  I  felt  an  interest  in  the 
poor  boy  from  the  first  moment  I  heard  of  his  condition. 
But,  of  course,  I  feel  a  much  deeper  interest  in  him  now. 
"Oh,  doctor!  can  he  possibly  live?"  anxiously  inquired  the 
lady. 

"He  may,  madam ;  but  it  is  not  likely  that  he  will." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  recover  his  senses?" 

"I  hope  so,"  replied  the  surgeon,  evasively. 

"If  he  should,  will  you  send  for  me?  I  should  like  to 
speak  with  him.  Will  you?" 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Moseley." 

"And  if  he  should  be  able  to  take  any  nourishment,  will 
you  let  me  know?  And  I  will  have  it  prepared  according 
to»your  directions,  and  under  my  own  eye." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Moseley.  I  will  avail  myself  of  your 
kind  offer." 

"Poor  boy !"  said  the  lady,  and  with  one  parting  gaze  at 
the  patient's  face  she  turned,  bowed  to  the  doctor  and  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WARNED  BY  A  DRlliM 

ON  the  morning  when  Ran  Hay,  in  company  with  Gen- 
tleman Getf,  left  Grizzly  to  tramp  all  the  way  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, Mike  and  Judy  stood  watching  the  pair  until  they 
were  out  of  sight. 

Then  Mike  walked  off  to  find  another  partner,  in  the 
camp  that  was  just  beginning  to  wake  up  to  the  day's 
business. 

And  Judy  went  inside  of  her  cabin,  sat  down  on  the  floor, 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  began  to  weep  and  wail, 
keeping  time  by  see-sawing  her  body  back  and  forth.  She 
kept  up  this  lamentation  until  some  one  entered  the  cabin. 
Then  she  started  up,  and  saw  standing  before  her  Ben 
Brown,  the  saloon  keeper,  with  a  bundle  of  linen  in  his 
hand. 

"Well,  Miss  Judy,  I  have  brought  the  washing.  Could 
you  have  it  done  by  to-night  ?"  he  inquired,  sitting  down  on 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  115 

one  of  the  stools  and  putting  his  burden  on  the  floor  before 
him. 

"Sure  and  I  can,  Mr.  Brown,  and  what  would  be  to 
hinder  me  ?"  she  answered,  smartly,  to  hide  her  grief. 

"Nothing  as  I  know  on,  unless  it  would  be  fretting  after 
young  Ran  Hay." 

"And  is  it  Misther  Hay  ye're  spakin'  av?  And  what 
would  ail  me  to  fret  afther  him,  sure,  when  he's  gone  away 
to  walk  intil  a  grand  fortin?"  demanded  Judy,  tossing  her 
handsome  little  head. 

"Oh,  nothing;  only  you  might  niver  see  him  again,  that's1 
all." 

"Don't  you  throuble  yerself  about  that,  Misther  Brown. 
And  av  ye  want  the  clothes  home  by  night  I'd  a  dale  bet- 
ther  be  getting  a  pot  of  wather  over  the  fire  to  het  than 
standing  talking  nonsense,"  said  Judy,  beginning  to  bustle 
about  in  search  of  her  pail. 

Ben  Brown  laughed  and  left  the  cabin,  flinging  this  shaft 
behind  him : 

"Ah,  well,  Miss  Judy,  it's  a  smart,  industrious  gal  ye  are, 
let  alone  a  handsome  one;  and  it's  a  good  wife  ye'll  make 
some  fine  fellow  one  of  these  days.  And  happy  the  man 
that  will  get  you  !" 

Judy  turned  to  fire  away  some  repartee,  but  her  neighbor 
was  gone. 

Judy  did  not  relapse  again  into  grief.  She  betook  her- 
self to  hard  work,  sorrow's  best  earthly  antidote. 

First  she  fetched  water  from  the  stream  and  filled  a  large 
pot  which  she  had  hung  over  the  fire  in  the  open  chimney, 
and  while  the  water  was  heating  she  washed  up  the  break- 
fast dishes  and  cleared  up  the  table  that  had  been  left 
standing  after  Ran  Hay's  departure. 

Then  she  washed  out  Ben  Brown's  clothes  and  hung  them 
on  the  line  to  dry;  emptied  and  turned  up  her  tubs  and 
pots  in  the  sun  on  the  outside  of  the  cabin. 

Then  when  she  had  "tidied  up"  her  own  home  she  went 
into  Ran  Hay's  deserted  hut. 

Here  again,  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  boy's  little,  familiar 
properties,  her  spirits  gave  way  and  she  sat  down  on  the 
floor,  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  lifted  up  her  voice 
in  lamentations.  Now  no  one  interrupted  her,  and  she  sat 
there  weeping  and  wailing  and  swaying  her  body  to  and  fro, 


116  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER-? 

until  the  paroxysm  of  grief  exhausted  itself.  Then,  amid 
a  few  subsiding  sobs  and  sighs,  she  began  to  wipe  her  face 
with  her  apron.  While  so  engaged  she  felt  a  soft  touch  on 
her  naked  arm  and  heard  a  piteous  whine. 

She  dropped  her  apron  before  her  face  and  saw  beside  her 
poor  Ean  Hay's  black  hound,  "Tippicanoo,"  or  "Tip,"  as 
he  was  familiarly  called. 

Judy  threw  her  arms  around  the  dog  and  hugged  him  to 
her  bosom,  crying  over  him : 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Tip !  Oh,  my  dear  Ean's  poor  Tip  !  Your 
master's  gone,  Tip !  He's  gone  far  away.  And  I,  like  the 
brute  baste  that  I  am,  forgot  to  give  you  your  breakfast,  so 
I  did !  Come,  Tip !  Come  home  wid  me,  darlint,  and  I'll 
feed  ye  like  the  King  av  Agypt's  dog.  And  whin  meself 
laves  the  place  ye'll  not  be  left  behind,  Tip,"  she  said ;  and 
she  called  the  hound  after  her,  returned  to  her  own  cabin 
and  gave  him  all  that  was  left  of  the  breakfast. 

Then  she  went  back  to  Ean  Hay's  hut  and  put  everything 
in  order. 

N"ext  came  her  task  of  sprinkling  down  and  rolling  up 
the  clothes  she  had  washed  in  the  morning.  And  while 
they  were  "giving"  she  put  her  irons  to  heat,  and  also  put 
on  the  pot  for  a  boiled  dinner  for  Mike. 

While  the  bacon  and  cabbage  and  potatoes  were  cooking, 
Judy  spread  her  board  and  began  her  ironing.  She  worked 
on  for  two  or  three  hours,  and  to  keep  up  her  spirits  she 
sang  a  favorite  song  in  a  clear,  elastic  voice : 

"  'Sing  at  your  work,  'twill  lighten 

The  labors  of  the  day ! 
Sing  at  your  work,  'twill  brighten 

The  darkness  of  the  way ! 
Sing  at  your  work,  though  sorrow 

Its  lengthened  shade  should  cast ; 
Joy  cometh  with  the  morrow, 

And  soon  the  night  is  past*  " 

By  the  time  the  last  shirt  was  ironed  Mike  came  in  to 
his  dinner,  hungry  and  happy. 

Judy  folded  up  her  ironing  blanket,  and  set  the  table, 
and  dished  up  the  dinner. 

Mike  talked,  laughed  and  joked  during  the  whole  meal. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  117 

Judy  fed  Ean's  hound,  that  sat  beside  her  all  the  time. 
She  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak  of  her  absent  lover ;  but 
she  listened  attentively  while,  Mike  conjectured  just  about 
where  he  was  at  that  present  time,  and  where  he  would  be 
likely  to  be  at  nightfall. 

"Reckon  he  is  in  the  long  forest  now,  and  about  two- 
thirds  through  it.  Reckon  he'll  be  getting  nigh  Table 
Woods  by  dark." 

"Where  will  he  sleep?"  Judy  ventured  to  ask. 

"The  thick  timber  in  Table  Woods  is  a  good  place  to 
camp  on  sich  a  night  as  this  promises  to  be.  Come,  girleen, 
don't  be  looking  so  sarious.  Sure  it's  a  blissid  letter  you'll 
be  getting  in  a  day  or  two,  and  then  he'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy. 
You'll  never  be  doubting  him,  Judy  ?" 

"  Oh,  niver !  niver !  I'd  as  soon  be  doubting  one  av  the 
hooly  saints  !"  said  Judy,  with  all  her  heart  in  her  tone. 

"Well,  thin,  it's  brave  and  merry  ye  ought  to  be  while 
waiting  for  him.  It's  not  so  long  ye'll  have  to  wait.  It 
isn't  as  if  it  was  a  say  v'yage  he  had  gone." 

"Oh!  it's  all  right  I'll  be  to-morrow,  Mike.  The  fuss 
day's  the  wuss  day,  ye  know.  And  sure  I  have  still  got  a 
hape  av  wurruk  to  do  to  bring  me  through  it,"  said  Judy, 
cheerfully. 

"Sure,  and  it's  all  right  ye  are  now,  Judy.  And  I'll  be 
going  back  to  me  shaft,"  said  Mike,  rising  after  a  hearty 
meal. 

"And  it  is  a  pard  ye  have  found,  Mike?"  inquired  Judy. 

"Yes,  sure,  a  stranger  that  tramped  into  the  camp  this 
morning.  Sez  his  name's  Jerry  Noddin,  from  Wild  Cat. 
Don't  know  much  about  him,  but  'no  betther  company,  wil- 
come  thrumpery/  He's  at  Ben  Brown's  at  the  prisint 
spaking,  but  I  reckon  he  will  take  Ran's  hut.  Well,  thin, 
good-day  till  I  see  ye  again,  Judy,"  said  Mike,  as  he  left 
the  cabin  to  return  to  his  shaft. 

Judy  washed  up  her  dishes,  cleared  up  her  cabin,  and  sat 
down  to  knit. 

Ran's  hound  stretched  himself  at  her  feet. 

The  girl  hummed  a  favorite  Irish  melody  as  she  worked. 

The  afternoon  passed ;  the  sun  set. 

"I  wonder  where  me  boy  is  at  this  prisint,"  said  Judy  to 
herself,  as  she  rolled  up  her  knitting,  putting  it  away,  took 
iher  pail  and  went  out  to  get  water. 


118  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

At  the  door  she  met  Ben  Brown. 

"If  ye've  come  for  the  clothes,  they're  all  riddy  for  ye, 
pinned  up  in  a  towel  on  the  table  inside,"  she  said. 

"Thanky,  Miss  Judy.  I'll  find  'em,"  said  Ben,  and  he 
went  in  and  brought  out  the  bundle. 

Judy  filled  her  pail  at  the  stream  that  flowed  through 
the  little  vale,  and  then  re-entered  the  house,  mended  the 
fire,  filled  the  kettle  and  hung  it  over  the  blaze.  Then  she 
cut  and  fried  bacon,  mixed  and  baked  batter  cakes,  covered 
them  all  up  on  the  hot  plates  before.the  fire,  and  then  made 
the  tea  and  set  it  to  draw,  and  set  the  table  for  supper. 

Mike  came  in  while  she  was  arranging  the  cups  and 
saucers. 

"And  where  d'ye  think  me  boy  is  the  night,  Mike?"  she 
inquired. 

"Going  through  Table  Woods,  I  reckon,"  replied  the 
brother,  dropping  down  on  the  three-legged  stool  and  be- 
ginning to  pull  off  his  heavy  boots. 

"  Oh,  wirra !  wirra !  if  it  was  only  the  second  sight  I  was 
gifted  with  to  see  him  the  night !"  sighed  Judy. 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  be  afther  seeing  him  that  way.  It 
would  be  too  unnatooral  and  ghistly,"  replied  Mike. 

It  would  almost  seem,  by  what  followed,  that  Judy's 
heart's  prayer  had  been  heard  and  answered. 

Now  she  set  the  supper  on  the  table,  and  told  Mike  to 
draw  up  his  stool. 

The  brother,  and  the  sister,  too,  being  young  and  healthy, 
ate  a  hearty  meal,  and  having  worked  hard  all  day,  became 
sleepy  soon  afterward. 

Judy  cleared  away  the  table. 

Mike  covered  up  the  fire. 

Then  both  retired  to  bed. 

Judy's  bunk  was  curtained  off  from  the  rest  of  the  room 
by  a  coarse  blanket. 

She  knelt  behind  this,  knelt  down  beside  her  rude  bed 
and  said  her  evening  prayers,  and  at  the  end  of  her  usual 
ritual  she  invoked  the  Virgin,  and  all  the  saints,  to  watch 
over  and  protect  her  dear  boy  on  his  long  journey,  and  to 
bring  him  back  safe  to  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

Then  she  prepared  for  bed — a  very  slight  preparation — 
only  the  laying  off  of  her  outer  dress,  and  getting  under  the 
patchwork  quilt.  Judy,  young,  healthy  and  tired,  fell  into 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  119 

a  deep  sleep — which  did  not  last  long,  however.  She  soon, 
started  up. 

Mike  was  snoring  loudly,  and  dreaming  blissfully  of 
blocks  and  blocks  of  shining  yellow  gold  as  big  as  bowlders, 
all  his  own,  when  he  was  roughly  shaken,  and  awakened. 

"Hooly  Moses!  Phwat's  the  matther?"  he  cried,  start- 
ing up  and  preparing  for  defense.  "Is  it  ye'self,  Noddin, 
ye  thafe  of  the  wurruld  ?"  he  demanded ;  for  it  was  so  dark 
he  could  not  see  his  assailant,  who  had  withdrawn  as  soon 
as  the  sleeper  was  awakened. 

"No,  Mike,  ava.  It's  me — Judy.  Oh!  I'm  so  unhappy! 
Wait,  Mike,  till  I  slip  on  me  frock  and  light  a  candle," 
answered  Judy's  voice  from  the  gloom. 

"Is  it  ailing  ye  are,  girleen,  or  is  it  the  night  witch  has 
gripped  ye?"  demanded  the  brother,  sitting  on  the  side  of 
his  bunk  and  drawing  on  his  trousers. 

"I  don't  know,"  moaned  Judy,  as  she  drew  a  match  and 
lighted  a  candle,  revealing  brother  and  sister  hastily 
clothed;  the  brother  looking  anxious  and  perplexed,  the 
sister  pale,  trembling  and  terrified. 

"Now,  thin,  what  is  the  matther,  Judy?  What  ivir  has 
frightened  ye,  honey?"  he  inquired,  staring  at  her. 

"  Oh !  oh !  Mike  !  I  have  had  sich  a  dhrame,  or  a  visita- 
tion, I  dinno  which,"  Judy  wailed. 

"  'A  dhrame  or  a  visitation !'  Is  it — is  it — was  it — a 
banshee  ?" 

"Oh,  Mike !  I  dinno,""  she  sobbed,  and  she  sat  down  on 
the  floor,  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands,  and  began  to 
rock  herself  to  and  fro. 

"Now  what  the  divil  ails  the  gal,  annyhow?"  said  her 
brother,  going  and  stooping  over  her. 

"Oh,  Mike,  whativir  will  I  do?"  she  sobbed. 

"Now  be  the  divil's  granny,  how  will  I  tell  ye,  unless  I 
know  phwat  the  matter  is  ?" 

"Oh,  Mike!  it  was  the  dhrame,  or  the  visitation!" 

"Phwat  dhrame,  sure?" 

"It  couldn't  hiv  bin  a  dhrame,  neither.  It  was  too  rale. 
It  was  a  visitation." 

"  Hooly  Mither !    Can't  ye  till  me  what  it  was,  thin  ?" 

"Oh,  wirra,  wirra!  Oh,  me  poor  boy!  me  poor  Kan!" 
sobbed  Judy,  swaying  herself  back  and  forth. 

"It's  dhrammg  ye  are!  thit's  all  aboot  it!" 


120  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Oh,  no,  Mike!    And  I  must  be  up  and  doing." 

"Up  and  doing  in  the  middle  of  the  night?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!  Oh,  Mike,  I  was  fast  asleep — sound 
asleep,  whin  something,  I  don't  know  what,  woke  me  up, 
and,  stid  o'  being  here  in  the  house  wid  you,  I  were  in  a 
deep  wood ;  and  it  was  so  thick  that  even  the  stars  in  the 
sky  couldn't  shine  down  through  it.  But,  somehow,  I 

could  see  without  light.  And  there Oh,  Mike !  Oh, 

Mike!  Oh,  Mike!" 

"For  Moses'  sake,  Judy,  stop  howling  and  till  me  phwat 
ye  seen!" 

"  Oh,  me  poor  boy !  Oh,  me  poor  Ean !  Laying  there, 
face  down,  in  his  own  blood,  dead,  dead,  dead!"  wailed 
Judy,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro. 

"Ah,  sure,  it  was  just  nothing  but  a  dhrame;  and  it's 
dhraming  yit,  ye  are !  Take  a  sup  at  the  craychur,  girrul, 
and  it  will  wake  ye  up,"  said  Mike,  going  off  to  the  rough 
corner  shelves  and  bringing  out  a  black  bottle.  He  drew 
the  cork,  and  put  the  mouth  to  Judy's  lips. 

She  swallowed  a  mouthful,  strangled,  spluttered, 
coughed,  got  angry  and  recovered  herself. 

"Take  the  divilish  truck  away,  Mike.  How  ivir  could 
ye  do  sich  a  trick  on  me  ?  Sure,  the  Injuns  call  it  the  right 
name.  It's  fire-wather,  so  it  is.  And  it's  burned  me  throat 
to  a  blister!"  she  cried. 

"Eh,  well !  But  it's  waked  ye  up,  Judy !  Ye're  betther ! 
And  now  ye'll  own  it  was  all  a  dhrame,"  chuckled  Mike,  as 
he  replaced  the  bottle. 

"Dhrame  or  no,  you  and  I  must  go  and  follow  Kan's  trail 
to-morrow  to  see  what  has  become  of  him,"  replied  Judy. 

"  The  divil  ye  say !  Do  ye  know  what  ye're  talking 
about,  Judy?" 

"Ay,  I  do.  And  you  and  meself  will  follow  me  poor  boy's 
trail  till  we  find  him,  even  if  it  takes  us  all  the  way  to 
'Frisco,"  firmly  replied  the  girl. 

"Hooly  Sint  Pater !  what  a  wake  "head  she's  got,  for  that 
little  dhrap  o'  the  craychur  as  wint  down  her  throat  to 
have  overkim  her  in  this  way !  Why,  I've  med  the  girrul 
dhrunk,"  said  poor  Mike,  within  himself,  as  he  stared  in 
blank  consternation  at  his  sister. 

When  he  recovered  himself,  he  was  too  wise  to  oppose 
her,  but  said,  in  a  diplomatic  and  conciliatory  tone : 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  121 

"All  right,  Judy;  we'll  talk  about  that  to-morrow.  We'd 
foetther  go  to  bed  now,  for  I'm  dead  for  the  slape." 

'You  may  go  to  bed  if  you  like,  Mike.  But,  as  for  me- 
self,  I  couldn't  close  me  eyes  to-night/'  said  Judy. 

"That's  bad;  but,  aven  so,  ye  can  lay  yerself  down  and 
rist.  Sure,  ye'll  nade  it,  if  ye  mane  to  tramp  to  'Frisco  to- 
morrow," said  Mike,  cunningly. 

"And  I  do  mane/'  said  Judy,  as  she  blew  out  the  candle, 
and  went  and  threw  herself  down  on  the  outside  of  her 
bunk,  closely  followed  by  Ean's  hound,  who  laid  himself  on 
the  floor  beside  it. 

Judy  slept  no  more  that  night,  but  lay  praying  to  all  the 
saints  for  the  safety  of  her  boy's  body  and  soul. 

With  the  earliest  dawn  of  day  she  arose,  lighted  a  candle, 
kindled  a  fire,  brought  water  from  the  stream,  and  began 
to  get  breakfast  and  to  set  the  table,  followed,  in  and  out, 
everywhere,  by  Ean's  hound. 

Mike  slept  through  all  this.  He  slept  later  than  usual, 
on  account  of  having  been  disturbed  during  the  night.  He 
slept  until  Judy  woke  him  up  to  come  to  breakfast. 

Mike  made  his  primitive  toilet  by  washing  his  face  and 
hands,  and  then  sat  down  to  the  table.  Then  Judy  opened 
on  him  : 

"We  must  start  in  half  an  hour,  Mike." 

"Start  where?" 

"On  me  poor  Ran's  trail,  to  be  sure." 

"Och,  bother!  Are  ye  afther  that  same  the  morning? 
Sure,  Judy,  it  was  only  a  bad  dhrame  ye  had  that  dish- 
turbed  yer  rest.  And  it  was  only  the  dhrap  o'  the  craychur 
I  poured  down  yer  throat  as  got  into  yer  head  and  made 
ye  talk  av  the  trail,"  said  the  brother,  uneasily. 

"Mike,"  replied  the  girl,  gravely  and  firmly,  "we  must 
go.  Aven  if  me  poor  Kan  was  only  an  ekkwentance  av  our 
own,  and  not  going  to  be  your  brother,  we  ought  to  go  and 
see  to  him,  after  sich  a  dhrame.  And  we  must  go." 

"Now,  look  a-here,  Judy !  I'd  do  ony thing  in  life  fer  ye 
as  was  raisonable,  and  a  good  dale  more  besides;  but  this 
here  is  rank  foolishness,  and  it  can't  be  done — there !" 

Judy  had  known  her  brother  long  enough  to  know  that 
when  he  had  said  he  would  not  do  this  or  that,  he  was  stub- 
born as  a  mule.  Yet  knowing  this,  she  still  tried  des- 


122  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

perately  to  persuade  him  to  follow  Ran's  trail.  But  all  in 
vain,  as  she  might  have  known  it  would  be. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  the  shaft.  I  can't  trust  that  new  pard 
o'  mine  till  I  know  him  betther.  So  I  shan't  be  home  till 
dark,  ye  mind.  Good-day  till  ye,  Jude.  Don't  think  harred 
av  me,  girrul,  for  not  going  on  a  wild-goose  chase,"  said, 
the  brother,  as  he  took  his  old  felt  hat  from  its  peg  and 
walked  out  of  the  cabin. 

Judy  watched  him  out  of  sight,  and  then — she  lost  no 
more  time.  She  hastily  piled  the  fragments  of  the  break- 
fast on  a  tin  plate,  called  the  hound,  and  placed  it  outside 
the  door  for  his  meal.  She  did  not  stop  to  clear  the  table. 

She  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  ran  over  to  Ben 
Brown's  cabin — the  largest  in  the  camp,  because  it  included 
a  saloon. 

Judy  went  in,  and  found  Ben  behind  the  bar. 

"Ah !  good-morning,  Miss  Judy.  It's  the  change  for  the 
washing — here  it  is,"  said  Brown,  handing  over  the 
amount. 

"Thanky,"  said  Judy,  as  she  put  the  money  in  her 
pocket.  "But  it  was  not  that  I  came  for;  I  niver  dunned 
ye  yit,  Misther  Brown." 

"No,  no  more  you  never.  But  when  money's  earned  it's 
owed.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Judy?" 

"  Oh,  Misther  Brown,  will  ye  lind  me  the  loan  av  a  bit  av 
writing  paper  and  pin  and  ink?" 

"Of  course,  Miss  Judy,"  said  Ben,  as  he  handed  down 
from  a  rude  desk  a  half  quire  of  coarse  paper,  a  little  black 
bottle  of  ink  and  a  rusty  steel  pen. 

"Thanky,  Misther  Brown,"  said  Judy,  drawing  them 
toward  her. 

"And  I  can  guess  who  the  letter's  for,"  added  Ben. 

"Sure,  and  I  don't  think  you  can,  Misther  Brown,  sir. 
And,  more-an-over,  it's  no  letther,  but  a  note;  and  will 'you 
lave  me  write  it  here  on  yer  counther  ?  It  will  save  carrying 
the  articles  to  me  cabin  an'  bringing  av  'em  back,"  said 
the  girl. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life,  Miss  Judy,"  promptly 
replied  the  gallant  Ben. 

Judy  went  to  the  rear  of  the  counter,  which  ran  from 
front  to  back  on  the  left  side  of  the  room,  cleared  a  little 
place,  and  while  man  after  man  came  in,  took  his  morning 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  123 

drink,  cracked  a  joke  with  the  bartender  and  went  out  again 
without  so  much  as  speaking  to  Judy,  whom  all  respected, 
and  who  seemed  absorbed  in  her  task,  the  girl  wrote  the 
following  note  to  her  brother. 

She  wrote  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  for  though  she  had 
been  taught  to  read  and  write  by  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy 
Maternity,  yet  she  had  been  entirely  out  of  practice  a  long 
time;  added  to  which,  her  pen,  ink  and  paper  were  of  the 
poorest  description. 

Nevertheless,  she  achieved  this : 

"DEER  MIKE: — Ime  sorry  to  sa  yele  have  to  kuk  yer 
owne  males  for  the  prisint.  I  must  go  on  me  pore  bouy's 
trale  to  se  whats  bekum  av  him  donte  think  harrd  av  me 
Mike  i  cante  helpe  it  and  i  take  the  hownde  to  help  me  to 
finde  me  pore  ran.  your  luving  cyster  till  deth 

"Jm>Y  MAN." 

She  folded  this  note,  gave  back  the  stationery  to  the  bar- 
keeper, thanked  him  again,  and  walked  out  of  the  saloon. 

The  camp  was  almost  deserted.  The  men  were  all  out  at 
their  shafts,  and  there  were  but  two  more  women  besides 
Judy  at  Grizzly,  and  these  were  out  of  sight  when  the  girl 
passed  through  to  her  cabin.  She  found  the  dog  at  the 
door,  at  work  on  the  last  bones  of  his  breakfast. 

He  left  them  and  followed  her  into  the  house. 

She  took  the  note  that  she  had  written  and  stuck  it  with 
a  pin  just  above  the  nail  where  Mike  always  hung  his  hat. 
There  she  knew  he  would  be  sure  to  find  it  when  he  should 
return  at  night. 

"It  would  have  been  no  use,  my  telling  Mike  beforehand. 
He  nivir  would  hev  let  me  go.  He  could  hev  privinted  me 
by  force  and  vilince.  And  I  hev  to  go  and  find  me  boy, 
afther  being  warned  in  a  dhrame,"  she  said,  talking  to  her- 
self, as  was  the  habit  of  her  lonely  life,  while  she  went  on 
with  her  preparations. 

She  took  down  the  lantern  and  filled  the  lamp  inside 
with  oil.  And  then  she  took  the  money  that  she  had  that 
morning  received  for  her  washing,  and  put  it  on  the  shelf 
from  which  she  had  taken  the  lantern,  muttering  to  herself : 

"I'm  not  that  sure  and  sartain  as  the  craychur  isn't  jjust 
as  much  me  own  as  hissen,  and  sure,  I  nade  it  more  if  I'm 


124  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

to  be  overtook  in  the  night  in  the  woods.  But,  to  be  on 
the  safe  side  from  the  sin  and  shame  av  staling,  I'll  jist 
lave  the  price  av  it  here." 

Then  she  tied  up  a  little  parcel  of  food  for  herself  and 
the  dog,  put  a  tin  box  of  matches  in  her  pocket,  tied  a 
straw  hat  over  her  head,  wrapped  a  plaid  shawl  around  her 
shoulders,  called  the  hound  to  follow  her,  and  left  the  cabin, 
passed  through  the  deserted  camp,  and  entered  the  forest. 

As  its  shades  were  about  to  inclose  her  she  glanced  up  at 
the  sun,  which  was  her  only  timepiece. 

"About  eight  av  the  clock.  I'll  have  a  tin  or  ilivin  hours' 
start  before  Mike  finds  out  I'm  gone.  And  thin  I  shall 
have  as  minny  hours  av  daylight  itself  as  well.  Come,  Tip, 
darlint  doggie.  We's  going  to  find  yer  masther,  hinny." 

Then  she  went  into  the  thick  forest. 

No  man  of  that  camp,  not  even  when  traveling  in  com- 
pany with  other  men,  would  have  ventured  to  traverse  that 
route  without  being  "amed  to  the  teeth,''  for  there  was 
deadly  danger  from  ravenous  wild  beasts,  from  savage  In- 
dians, and  from  much  more  savage  border  ruffians. 

Yet  this  young  girl,  innocent,  ignorant  and  courageous, 
inspired  by  an  honest  affection,  and  warned,  as  she 
imagined,  by  a  dream,  with  no  other  defense  or  protection 
than  her  dog  and  her  lantern,  entered  a  howling  wilderness, 
more  deadly  perilous  to  her  than  could  have  been  the  tiger- 
haunted  jungles  of  India. 


CHAPTER  XHI 

JUDY'S  JOURNEY 

DID  Judy  know  the  risk  she  ran  in  starting  on  her  jour- 
ney through  the  wilderness,  with  no  guide  or  guard  but 
her  lantern  and  her  dog? 

If  she  knew,  she  did  not  stop  to  think  of  it.  Her  only 
care  was  to  find  Ean. 

She  entered  the  dark  wood  fearlessly.  It  closed  behind, 
so  that  she  soon  found  herself  in  a  solitude  as  profound  as 
that  of  the  primeval  forest  never  trodden  by  the  foot  of 
man.  Above  and  around  her  was  an  interminable  sea  of 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  125 

foliage,  shutting  out  the  sky  above  and  the  way  before  her. 
Under  her  feet  the  trail  was  almost  invisible.  It  was, 
indeed,  traversed  only  about  once  a  week  by  the  packman, 
who  made  the  sole  communication  between  the  mining 
camp  and  the  distant  city. 

The  dog,  Tip,  snuffing  along  with  his  nose  to  the  ground, 
led  the  way. 

On  this  fine  spring  morning  the  green  wilderness  was  all 
alive  with  animal  as  well  as  with  vegetable  life — jubilant 
with  the  songs  of  birds,  and  redolent  of  the  perfume  of 
leaves  and  flowers. 

Yet  Judy,  young,  healthy  and  natural  as  she  was.  noticed 
none  of  these  charms  of  the  forest  walk. 

Her  only  thought  was  to  get  on  beyond  pursuit  and  to 
find  Ean. 

She  remembered  that  her  brother  had  left  their  cabin 
that  morning  to  go  to  the  shaft  for  the  whole  day,  yet  she 
feared  lest  some  chance  might  bring  him  back  to  the  hut.  to 
discover  her  flight,  and  to  start  in  pursuit;  so  she  was 
terribly  anxious  to  go  on  as  fast  as  she  could.  She  thought, 
if  she  should  hear  footsteps  behind  her,  what  she  should  do. 
She  resolved  that  in  such  a  case  she  should  leave  the  trail, 
plunge  into  the  thicket,  calling  the  dog  after  her,  and  hide 
herself  in  its  deepest  recesses. 

Besides  this,  she  thought  of  her  dream  in  which  she  had 
seen  Ean  lying  wounded  and  bleeding  in  the  wilderness. 
That  dream  picture  had  impressed  itself  so  distinctly  upon 
her  memory  that  she  could  see  every  feature  of  it  by  only 
closing  her  eyes. 

"He's  not  dead!  Oh,  he's  not  dead!"  she  cried,  with  a 
sharp  heart-pang  at  the  thought  of  the  possibility.  "If  he 
had  been,  what  would  ha'  been  the  use  of  the  dhrame  itself 
but  to  mock  a  poor  gurrl ?  No,  he's  not  dead,  but  hurrt — 
hurrt,  and  warnts  meself  to  luke  afther  him.  So  the 
dhrame  was  given  to  warm  me.  And  so  I  must  make  haste. 
Oh,  I  must  make  haste,  and  resky  me  poor  bhoy  !'r  She 
sped  on. 

Thus,  at  the  very  outset  of  her  long  journey,  she  made 
the  mistake  of  the  inexperienced.  She  walked  much  too 
fast,  so  every  hour  she  grew  more  weary,  began  to  drag 
herself  along  more  slowly,  stopped  oftener  to  recover 


126  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

breath,  and  at  last,  about  noon,  she  sank  down  exhausted  on 
the  side  of  the  trail. 

The  dog  came  and  licked  her  face,  and  in  dog  language 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  and  what  he  could  do  for 
her.  Should  he  kill  a  bird  or  a  squirrel,  and  bring  it  to 
her  ?  Was  there  anything  he  could  bark  at  ?  Or  anything 
he  could  bite?  If  she  would  only  tell  him,  he  would  do 
whatever  she  willed,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  or  the  sacri- 
fice of  anybody  else's,  for  he  loved  her  only  next  best  to 
his  master. 

Judy  understood  and  believed  him,  and  told  him  so  with 
many  caresses  from  her  hands,  while  she  lay  and  rested  her 
tired  back  and  limbs  on  the  ground  and  against  the  trunk 
of  a  great  tree. 

Presently  she  opened  her  lunch  basket,  and  took  from  it 
a  meaty  bone,  which  she  gave  to  Tip.  Then  she  took  out  a 
bottle  of  cold  tea,  uncorked  it,  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  When 
she  had  drunk  the  tea,  and  eaten  a  large  piece  of  bread  and 
another  of  bacon,  she  felt  refreshed.  She  gave  Tip  more 
food,  and  when  he  had  consumed  it  he  went  snuffing  into 
the  thicket  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  trail  in  search  of 
water,  and  found  it  in  a  little  brooklet  running  parallel 
with  their  path.  Here  he  drank  his  filL  and  then  came 
back  and  told  his  mistress  that  he  was  at  her  orders  and 
quite  ready  to  attend  her. 

But  Judy  did  not  stir,  and  Tip,  who  was  also  tired,  lay 
down  at  her  feet,  coiled  himself  up,  and  went  to  sleep. 

TKe  birds  in  the  trees  overhead  hopped  down  on  the 
lower  branches,  and  turning  their  little  heads  sideways, 
peered  at  her  curiously  with  their  bright  eyes. 

Hares  and  squirrels,  and  other  small  quadrupeds  of  the 
wilderness,  came  to  the  edge  of  the  thicket  on  both  sides  of 
the  trail  and  peeped  at  the  intrusive  stranger,  and  then 
scudded  away  as  fast  as  they  could  run;  but  only  to  come 
back,  peep  again,  and  again  scud  away. 

Judy  watched  them  with  some  interest  and  amusement, 
but  without  moving  or  speaking,  lest  she  should  frighten 
them. 

There  was  a  wild  rose  growing  in  the  thicket,  within  her 
reach.  The  first  rose  of  the  season  had  burst  into  bloom. 

Judy  stretched  out  her  hand  to  take  it,  but  then  with- 
drew it;  she  had  not  the  heart  to  pluck  the  rose.  A  strange 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  127 

tenderness  toward  living  things  led  Judy  to  spare  flowers 
as  she  spared  her  young  chickens. 

But  her  movement  effectually  frightened  her  visitors; 
the  little  quadrupeds  fled  to  the  innermost  recesses  of  the 
thicket,  and  the  birds  flew  up  to  the  highest  branches  of  the 
trees.  And  neither  bird  nor  quadruped  came  back. 

In  spite  of  the  anxiety  that  was  gnawing  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart,  Judy  laughed,  for  she  was  young,  sympathetic 
and  impressible,  and  she  appreciated  the  quaint  terror  of 
the  little  creatures. 

"Come,  Tip,"  she  said,  rising,  and  lifting  her  lantern 
and  her  basket,  "we  must  be  going,  me  darlint !" 

Tip  arose,  slowly  stretched  himself,  and  declared  that  he 
was  quite  ready. 

"We  are  going  to  hunt  your  masther,  Tip,"  she  con- 
tinued, talking  to  the  dog  from  the  love  of  talking,  and  for 
lack  of  any  human  hearer. 

Tip  said  that  he  was  happy  to  go  wherever  she  should 
lead,  or — wags  to  that  effect. 

Surprised,  however,  that  he  showed  no  more  enthusiasm, 
Judy  changed  her  words,  and  said : 

"We  are  going  afther  Ran,  Tip — Ran !" 

Ah !  now,  indeed,  there  was  zeal  worth  seeing.  Tip  did 
not  know  who  master  was,  for  no  one  called  his  owner  by 
that  title,  but  the  name  of  Ean  was  a  dear,  familiar  sound, 
and  Tip  knew  who  that  was.  With  many  joyous  barks  and 
bounds,  he  jumped  around  his  companion,  and  then  ran  on 
before  her. 

All  the  afternoon  they  walked  through  the  thick  forest. 

No  wild  beast,  savage  Indian  or  border  ruffian  crossed 
her  sylvan  path.  Yet,  as  the  afternoon  waned  and  evening 
drew  near,  she  began  to  feel  afraid  in  the  deep  woods.  She 
knew  that  at  night  birds  of  prey  and  beasts  of  prey,  biped 
and  quadruped,  would  come  out  of  their  nests  and  lairs, 
"seeking  whom  they  might  devour."  She  was  in  dread  of 
them,  not  only  of  men  and  wolves,  but  of  hawks  and  vul- 
tures. She  began  to  pray  to  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  to  all  the 
blessed  saints,  to  protect  her  on  her  lonely  way,  and  bring 
her  safely  to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

As  it  grew  dark,  she  began  to  feel  very  weary.  Taught 
by  experience,  sie  resolved  to  stop  walking  before  she 


128  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HEE? 

should  drop  down,  as  she  did  at  noon,  and  perhaps,  also, 
in  some  very  dangerous  place. 

She  lighted  her  lantern,  and  looked  about  for  some  con- 
venient tree,  with  some  low,  strong  fork,  into  which  she 
might  secure  herself  by  means  of  her  shawl,  and  rest  in 
safety ;  or,  what  would  be  better  still,  some  tree  among  the 
enormous  fauna  of  that  region,  with  a  hollow  large  enough 
to  shelter  her,  and  where  she  could,  indeed,  lie  hidden  and 
go  to  sleep  in  safety. 

But  she  walked  on  and  on  without  finding  a  resting 
place. 

Presently  she  heard  a  sound  that  seemed  to  freeze  her 
blood.  It  was  the  softest,  clearest,  most  plaintive  and  most 
musical  sound — except  the  song  of  birds — that  the  forest 
could  produce.  And  yet  it  was  one  of  the  most  terrific 
sounds  that  could  have  startled  the  ears  of  the  lonely 
traveler. 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  pack  of  wolves  on  blood  scent. 

Judy  dropped  by  the  side  of  the  sylvan  road,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  invoking  all  the  heavenly  powers 
to  help  her. 

Tip  bristled  and  growled,  standing  guard  over  her. 

The  melodious  cry  came  nearer. 

"St.  Mary  and  all  the  holy  virgins  save  me !"  prayed  the 
shuddering  girl,  keeping  her  eyes  covered  lest  she  should 
see  the  coming  horrible  death. 

And  nearer. 

"St.  Stephen  and  all  the  holy  martyrs  pray  for  me !" 

And  nearer  still.  And  now,  with  the  melodious  cry, 
could  be  heard  the  light  trampling  of  many  small  feet, 
sounding  like  the  heavy  fall  of  raindrops  on  leaves. 

"St.  Michael  and  all  the  holy  angels  pray  for  me !"  cried 
Judy,  falling  on  the  ground,  face  downward. 

She  was  saying  the  prayers  for  a  departing  spirit. 

The  sound  of  the  baying  and  trampling  continued,  but 
came  no  nearer. 

Judy,  face  on  the  ground,  prayed  on. 

The  sounds  seemed  to  be  dying  away. 

The  dog  came  and  licked  her  face,  assuring  her  that  the 
peril  was  past. 

.The  sounds  had  entirely  died  away. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  129 

Judy  lifted  her  head  from  the  ground  and  sat  up  and 
listened. 

There  was  silence  in  the  woods. 

Still,  Judy  was  too  much  overcome  to  resume  her  way 
immediately. 

The  pack  of  wolves  had  passed  along  far  out  of  hearing. 
It  was  not  her  blood  they  wanted.  She  knew  that  now,  yet 
she  could  not  quickly  recover  her  composure. 

The  faithful  dog  stood  by  her,  licked  her  hand  and 
fawned  on  her. 

She  patted  his  shaggy  head,  and  laid  her  face  against  his 
cheek,  and  talked  to  him  as  to  a  human  being : 

"It  wasn't  oursilves  they  were  afther  to  ate,  the  saints  be 
praised !  Och,  darlint  Tip,  it's  a  big  scare  we  have  got ! 
And  sure  I  know  if  the  divils  had  come,  it  is  yersilf  would 
have  died  in  my  definee.  "Wouldn't  ye  now,  doggie?"  she 
asked,  tenderly  caressing  him. 

And  Tip,  looking  in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds  had 
died  away,  uttered  a  low,  deep,  thunderous  growl  to  the 
effect  that  he  would — yes,  a  thousand  deaths. 

At  last  she  got  up  and  resumed  her  walk,  carrying  her 
basket  on  her  left  arm  and  her  lighted  lantern  in  her  right 
hand,  followed  instead  of  being  preceded  by  the  dog. 

Not  many  steps  had  she  walked  when  she  came  upon  the 
yawning  cavern  of  a  huge  hollow  tree,  with  its  opening 
just  high  enough  for  her  to  climb  easily  into. 

"Och!  sure  here  it  is,  Tip,  and  meself  knew  it  would 
come.  And  now  we  can  sit  down  a  minnit  on  the  outside 
and  ate  our  supper,  for  I  darn't  take  the  time  to  do  it  be- 
fore ;  and  now  meself  is  as  hungry  as  a  hunther,"  she  said. 

And  she  hung  her  lantern  on  the  branch  of  a  bush  near 
by,  and  then  sat  down  and  opened  her  basket. 

She  divided  the  food  with  the  dog,  giving  him  a  bone  cov- 
ered with  meat,  and  taking  a  little  slice  of  cheese  and  two 
large  slices  of  bread  for  herself,  and  leaving  half  a  dozen 
biscuits  for  breakfast  the  next  morning.  She  drank  the 
remainder  of  the  cold  tea  from  the  bottle,  and  then  replaced 
the  latter  carefully  in  the  basket,  for  an  empty  bottle  cannot 
be  thrown  away,  in  the  backwoods,  as  recklessly  as  it  is 
here. 

Finally  she  held  her  lantern  down  into  the  hollow  of  the 
tree  to  see  if  there  were  any  noxious  reptiles  in  it.  She 


130  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

saw  none;  the  cavity  looked  clean  and  smelt  sweet.  She 
even  broke  off  a  little  branch,  stripped  it  and  stirred  it 
about  in  the  hollow  to  see  if  she  could  start  any  insects; 
but  there  were  none. 

"It's  clane  and  dacent  as  a  baby's  crib  in  the  Fondlin'," 
she  said,  as  she  hung  her  lantern  up  above  the  hole,  rolled 
herself  up  in  her  shawl  and  got  into  the  cavity.  When  she 
had  turned  about  until  she  had  found  a  comfortable  posi- 
tion and  was  sure  of  it  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  out. 

The  dog  was  standing  with  his  head  raised  to  hers,  look- 
ing at  her  in  doubt  and  anxiety. 

"It's  all  right,  Tip,"  she  said.  "Lay  doon  there  and  go 
to  slape !  Lay  doon,  Tip,  darlint !" 

The  dog  obediently  stretched  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree. 

Judy  then  drew  in  her  head,  settled  herself  comfortably 
in  her  seat,  took  her  rosary  from  her  pocket  and  began  her 
evening  devotions. 

Overcome  by  the  unusual  fatigue  of  the  day,  she  fell 
fast  asleep  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  dropped  her  beads. 

She  did  not  stir  for  ten  hours;  she  slept  a  dreamless 
sleep. 

When  at  length  she  awoke  the  sun  was  high,  and  his 
light,  filtered  through  thousands  of  fresh  green  leaves,  was 
reviving  and  delightful. 

Judy  had  lost  the  connection  of  her  consciousness.  She 
did  not  know  where  she  was,  or  how  she  came  there;  she 
had  a  vague  fear  that  she  had  been  buried — alive.  She 
started,  and  was  ready  to  scream,  when  the  front  paws  and 
the  head  of  the  big  black  dog  appeared  at  the  opening,  and 
the  facts  of  the  position  flashed  at  once  upon  her. 

"Oh!  the  good,  fethful  craychur  thet  ye  be!  Ye've  tuk 
care  av  me  the  whole  night,  so  ye  have,  and  nivir  stirred 
nor  wuk  me  until  I  wuk  meself .  Good  Tip !  Good  doggie !" 
she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  to  fondle  him. 

Then  Judy  tried  to  get  out  of  her  nest,  but  found  it 
harder  than  to  get  in. 

"Sure  it's  like  a  clam  in  a  shell,  or  a  young  chicken  in  an 
egg,  I  fale.  Sure  I've  harrdly  room  to  turn  round  meself. 
It's  wedged  in  I  am,"  she  said,  as  she  struggled  to  free  her- 
self from  her  bondage. 

"And  now  it's  like  an  ould  woman  with  the  rhemnatiz  I 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  131 

fale,  with  me  legs  as  stiff  as  sticks,"  she  complained,  as  she 
at  last  succeeded  in  climbing  out  of  the  hollow  tree,  and 
tried  to  stretch  her  limhs. 

She  heard  the  soft  gurgle  of  water  running  near  by. 

"Ah !  bliss  it !  and  I  so  thirsty,  and  you,  too,  doggie,"  she 
said,  as  she  set  off  to  find  the  stream. 

It  was  deep  in  the  thicket  on  the  other  side  of  the  trail ; 
a  bright  little  brook,  catching  every  spark  of  the  sun's  light 
that  drifted  down  through  the  roof  of  foliage. 

Judy  stooped  and  curved  her  doubled  hands  into  a  cup, 
and  drank  her  fill. 

Tip  had  followed  her,  and  now  he  unceremoniously 
dipped  his  mouth  into  the  stream  and  drank  great  draughts 
of  the  water  very  noisily. 

Then  Judy  washed  her  face,  and  wiped  it  on  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

Finally  she  went  back  to  the  hollow  tree,  opened  her 
basket  and  divided  the  whole  of  its  remaining  contents  with 
Tip — three  biscuits  for  Tip,  and  three  for  herself. 

"Now,  doggie,"  she  said,  when  they  had  finished  their 
repast;  "if  we  don't  come  to  somewhere  before  noon  it's 
hungry  we'll  be;  if  we  don't  come  to  somewhere  before 
night  it's  a'most  starved  we'll  be.  I  fale  like  Lisabeth  in 
the  Elzize  of  Sibeery,  or  like  little  Bed  Eidinghood  and  the 
wolf ;  but  most  like  the  Babes  in  the  Woods  Ay !  that's  me 
and  you,  doggie — babes  in  the  woods — and  if  we  stharve  to 
death,  sure  the  two  av  us  will  lay  down  togither  and  die  on 
the  ground,  and  the  little  birds  will  come  and  kiver  us  all 
over  with  the  grane  laives.  But  come  along,  Tip !" 

She  resumed  her  journey,  followed  by  the  dog. 

They  walked  on  sturdily  through  the  forest,  that  at 
every  mile  became  a  deeper  and  still  deeper  wilderness. 

At  noon  both  girl  and  dog  were  weary,  hungry  and 
thirsty. 

She  sat  down  to  rest,  and  he  lay  down  at  her  feet;  but 
they  had  no  food,  and  found  no  water. 

In  fifteen  minutes  she  arose  and  recommenced  her  walk, 
with  a  dragging,  faltering  step,  the  dog  following  slowly 
behind  her.  They  walked  on  wearily  for  a  mile  or  two 
further.  . 

"We  must  go  until  we  come  to  somewheres,  Tip,  for  if  we 


132  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

don't  come  to  somewheres  it's  stharved  we'll  be,  and  buried 
by  the  robins  before  we  find  Ran." 

The  dog  gave  a  weak  but  joyful  bark  at  the  sound  of  his 
master's  name. 

Suddenly,  with  a  furious  bark,  he  shot  past  his  mistress 
and  threw  himself  upon  a  hunter  who  was  advancing  from 
the  opposite  direction,  but  was  hidden  from  Judy's  sight 
by  the  thickness  of  the  meeting  foliage  from  each  side  of 
the  road. 

The  dog  had  caught  him  by  the  furry  collar  of  his  buck- 
skin coat,  and  held  him  fast. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  HTJNTER 

"  JEE-HOSS-A-PHAT,  king  of  the  Jews !  Call  your  dog  off, 
young  'oman,  or  I'll  have  to  kill  him !"  exclaimed  the  man, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  Judy's  girlish  face  and  red  shawl. 

"  Oh !  plaise,  plaise,  don't  hurt  him,  sir !  Sure  he'll  nivir 
harrum  you — not  laist  I  bid  him.  Come  here,  Tip — come 
here,  sir !"  cried  Judy,  in  a  spasm  of  terror,  as  she  rushed 
to  the  rescue  not  of  the  man,  but  of  the  dog. 

Tip,  as  docile  and  obedient  as  he  was  brave  and  ferocious, 
immediately  let  go  the  man,  and  came  to  his  mistress,  who 
began  to  make  humble  apologies. 

"Sure  I'm  graived  to  the  harrt,  sir,  that  he  should  have 
been  so  unshivil ;  but  sure  he's  only  a  dog,  sir — poor  Ran's 
dog.  And  sure  he  knows  no  betther,  sir.  Sure  he  thought 
you  was  a-coming  to  harrum  meself,  mebby,  and  it  was 
definding  his  own  masther's  swatehearrt  he  was,  to  be  sure." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Ho!  ho!  ho!"  laughed  the  man,  in  a 
crackling,  crashing  peal  of  laughter,  that  broke  like  joyous 
thunder  through  the  woods,  and  was  echoed  far  and  wide. 

Then  Judy  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the  stranger  for 
the  first  time — looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

The  man  was  a  giant — the  very  tallest  human  being  Judy 
had  ever  seen  in  all  her  life,  ever  supposed  to  be  possible — 
also,  he  was  finely  proportioned  and  handsome  in  his  way. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  133 

He  had  long,  straw-colored  hair,  that  hung,  untrimmed,  on 
his  shoulders,  and  a  long,  straw-colored  beard,  that  fell,  un- 
trimmed, on  his  breast.  He  had  large,  clear-cut  features, 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  style;  strong,  blue  eyes,  and  a  com- 
plexion reddened  by  the  sun,  and  not  by  "fire  water."  He 
was  dressed  in  a  buckskin  coat  and  trousers,  and  very  high 
boots.  He  had  a  mangy-looking  fur  cap  on  his  head. 

Judy  was  reassured  by  his  loud  laugh,  but  also  somewhat 
embarrassed,  for  she  felt  as  if  he  were  making  fun  of  her. 

"Ah!  now  don't  mind  me.  It's  a  way  I  have,"  he  said, 
perceiving  her  state  of  confEsion.  "Who  did  you  say  the 
brute's  master  was?" 

"Kan,  sir,  me  poor  Ran !"  said  loyal  Judy,  beginning  to 
blush. 

"And  who  may  'Ban'  be?" 

"Misther  Randolph  Hay,  sir,  plaise." 

"And  what  is  he  to  you  that  you  have  his  dog?" 

Judy  was  not  in  the  least  degree  offended  by  these  imper- 
tinent questions.  She  did  not  even  perceive  the  imperti- 
nence. She  was  embarrassed,  however,  and  answered  hesi- 
tatingly : 

"Please,  sir,  he's  my — he's  my — I'm  his — I'm  his 

The  two  av  us  are  engaged,  sir !"  she  finally  managed  to 
say  plainly. 

"  Oh !  Ah !  Yes !  I  see !"  said  the  colossus,  looking 
from  his  lofty  height  down  upon  little  Judy. 

She  was  blushing,  twisting  the  corner  of  her  shawl  and 
keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

"I  am  a  very  insolent  fellow  to  ask  you  so  many  ques- 
tions, my  child ;  but  you  must  let  me  ask  you  a  few  more. 
Who  are  you,  and  how  came  you  to  be  out  in  this  wilder- 
ness alone  ?" 

"I  warrn't  me  lone,  sir.    I  had  me  dog," 

"But  he  could  not  have  protected  you  even  from  me.  I 
could  have  shot  him,  or  stabbed  him  to  death,  while  he  held 
me  fast." 

"Oh,  but  you  wouldn't  ha'  done  it,  sir.  Sure  you're  too 
tinder-harrted,  big  as  you  are,  to  hurrt  a  poor  baste  that 
wasn't  hurrtin'  you,  only  holding  you  off  from  meself,  sir," 
said  Judy,  piteously. 

"No,  I  wouldn't,  but  another  man  mightn't  have  been 


134.  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

so  considerate.  You  have  not  answered  my  question, 
though.  How  came  you  out  in  the  woods  alone  ?" 

"Oh,  sir,  it  was  all  along  av  a  dhrame  itself,"  answered 
Judy,  a  little  ashamed  of  the  confession. 

"A  dream?" 

"Yes,  sure,  a  dhrame,  sir.  It  was  the  night  before  last 
and  I  had  only  parrted  with  Ban  on  that  same  mauning  at 
sunrise." 

"What  was  your  dream?" 

"Sure,  sir,  ye'll  be  after  laughing  at  me  again." 

"No,  indeed  I  won't !    Tell  me  your  dream?" 

"Well,  then,  it  was  the  night— night  before  last  that  I 
dhramed  I  saw  me  poor  Ean  laying  doon  on  the  grownd  in 
the  woods,  woonded,  and  blading,  and  dying !  Oh  !  Oh ! 
Oh !"  cried  Judy,  breaking  into  irrepressible  tears  and  sobs 
at  the  picture  her  imagination  had  called  up. 

"There,  there,  there,  there,"  said  the  giant,  tenderly 
stroking  her  head  with  every  word;  "be  comforted,  little 
girl.  Your  Ran  is  all  right,  all  right !" 

"Oh,  do  you  know,  sir?  Are  you  sure?  Are  you  sure 
you're  sure?"  demanded  Judy,  passing,  with  the  swiftness 
of  her  race,  from  grief  to  jo). 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  I'm  sure !  I  myself  picked  him  up,  badly 
hurt,  and  put  him  on  a  stretcher,  and  carried  him  to  the 
fort." 

"iOh,  the  saints  be  praised !  the  blissid  saints  be  praised ! 
They've  heard  me  prayers !  And  he's  all  right  noo,  though 
he  were  badly  hurt  the  night  before  last  ?" 

"Yes,  he  is  all  right.  I  saw  him  this  morning!  He  is 
out  of  danger,  though  a  little  wrong  in  his  head ;  but  that 
will  come  all  right,  too,  by  and  by !" 

"Will  you  take  me  to  him?  Is  he  far  off?  Can  I  see 
him?"  breathlessly  demanded  Judy. 

"Yes,  you  can  see  him,  and  he  is  near  by,  and  I  will 
take  you,"  said  the  hunter,  heartily. 

But  Judy  had  sunk  down  on  the  ground  where  she  now 
sat,  with  her  head  leaning  on  the  neck  of  the  dog. 

And  the  hunter  noticed,  for  the  first  time,  how  exhausted 
she  was. 

"Look  here,  my  poor  girl,  you  are  half  fainting!  What 
is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you  sick?"  he  anxiously  in- 
quired. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  135 

"I  have  been  walking  all  day,  and  have  eaten  nothing 
since  manning,  whin  I  ate  three  biscuits,"  said  Judy. 

"You  are  famished  and  worn  out,"  said  the  hunter,  as 
he  hastily  took  off  a  leather  bag  that  was  slung  over  his 
shoulder,  opened  it  and  exhibited — a  woodland  feast! — 
venison,  grouse,  buffalo  tongue,  all  well  cooked,  and  white 
bread  well  baked,  though  a  backwoodsman's  hands  had  pre- 
pared the  repast.  Lastly  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  flask 
of  whisky. 

"Here,  child!  take  a  sup  of  this  first,"  said  the  hunter, 
offering  the  flask. 

"Oh,  if  you  plaise,  no;  but  thanky'  all  the  same/'  said 
Judy,  shrinking. 

"But  why  not?  It  will  do  you  good,"  persisted  the 
hunter. 

"  'Cause  I  can't  take  the  craychur  raw.  It  do  choke  me. 
It  did  before!" 

"Oh!  that's  it,  is  it?  Well,  here,  chew  this  while  I  go 
and  get  some  water,"  said  the  hunter,  as  he  cut  off  a  morsel 
of  the  boiled  buffalo  tongue  and  gave  it  to  her  on  the  point 
of  his  knife. 

Then  he  seized  a  tin  can  from  his  bag,  and  disappeared  in 
the  thicket,  beside  the  road. 

Soon  he  reappeared  again,  bringing  the  water. 

Judy  begged  him  to  let  her  drink  that  first,  as  she  was 
so  thirsty. 

He  gave  her  the  can,  and  she  drank  about  two-thirds  of 
its  contents,  and  then  returned  it  to  him. 

He  poured  some  whisky  from  his  flask  into  what  re- 
mained of  the  water  in  the  can,  and  gave  it  to  her,  saying : 

"Now  you  must  drink  some  of  this.  I'm  the  doctor,  you 
know,  and  I  order  it.  You  needn't  drink  it  all,  if  you 
object  very  much,  but  you  must  drink  some." 

Judy  obediently  took  one  mouthful  of  the  fiery  liquid, 
and  then  handed  the  can  back,  with  a  pleading  look. 

"Ah!  if  you  beg  off  that  way  I  shall  have  to  give  in!"1 
laughed  the  colossus,  as  he  took  the  can. 

He  filled  it  up  from  the  flask,  making  the  drink  much 
stronger,  and  then  saying: 

"Here's  to  your  good  health— and  Han's,"  tossed  it  down 
his  own  throat. 


136  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Then  he  sat  down  and  cut  bread  and  meat  for  Judy  and 
for  himself. 

"  Oh !  plaise  give  something  to  poor  Tip !  See  how  hun- 
gry he  looks.  How  he  watches  us !  And  how  patient  and 
well-behaved  he  is !"  pleaded  Judy. 

"Sartainly!  Tip  shall  have  a  feast!  Here,  Tip!"  said 
the  host,  and  he  threw  a  well-covered  bone  of  venison  to  the 
dog,  who  made  a  slow,  satisfactory  meal  of  all  the  meat  that 
was  left  on  it. 

"My  hut  is  about  half  a  mile  from  here,  right  on  the  way 
to  the  fort,  which  is  about  two  miles  further  off.  You  will 
have  to  rest  here  a  spell  before  you  are  able  to  walk  there. 
And  while  you  are  resting,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  exactly 
how  it  was  that  your  Ran  left — what  place  was  it  ?" 

"Grizzly." 

"Left  Grizzly.  You  said  he  left  on  the  day  before  yes- 
terday, in  the  morning." 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"Now,  tell  me  all  about  it.  Everything  you  know !  You 
see  this  poor  Ran  was  robbed,  as  well  as  half  murdered  and 
left  for  dead !  There,  now !  D'on't  go  back  on  a  scare !  He 
is  all  right  now !  Out  of  danger,  though  a  little  out  of  his 
head,  as  well !" 

"Must  I  begin  at  the  beginning?"  inquired  Judy. 

"Yes,  begin  at  the  beginning,"  replied  the  giant. 

Then  the  girl  told  her  own  and  her  brothers  short  story 
as  it  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 

The  hunter  heard  it  patiently  until  it  "landed"  the 
brother  and  sister  in  the  mining  camp  at  Grizzly  Gulch. 

Then  Judy  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  the  hunter  took 
advantage  of  the  pause  to  say : 

"What  I  wanted  to  know  was  about  Ran." 

"And  ain't  meself  going  to  till  you  immadiately?  Sure 
and  the  sthory  is  just  now  raiching  me  poor  Ran !"  said 
Judy. 

And  then  she  went  on  to  tell  him  how,  though  all  the 
miners  in  the  camp  had  been  very  kind  to  her  brother  and 
herself,  Ran  Hay  had  been  the  very  kindest.  He  had  lent 
her  brother  money  and  clothes  and  provisions,  and  had 
helped  him  to  build  a  cabin  exactly  like  his  (Ran's)  own, 
and  right  beside  it.  How  the  three  friends,  Ran,  Mike 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  137 

and  Judy,  had  lived  in  love  and  good  will  like  two  brothers 
and  a  sister/'until — until — until " 

"Until  Kan  turned  from  being  Judy's  brother  to  being 
Judy's  lover !"  put  in  the  hunter. 

"Yis,"  confessed  Judy,  with  downcast  eyes. 

"Now  tell  me  whatever  put  an  end  to  this  satisfactory 
state  of  affairs  and  sent  the  lover  away  from  the  happy 
valley  to  fall  among  thieves  ?"  inquired  the  hunter. 

Judy  suppressed  a  sob  and  a  burst  of  tears,  and  so  con- 
trolling herself,  went  on  to  explain  how  "suddintly,  on  the 
first  av  April,  kim  the  news  to  the  camp  that  Ean  Hay  had 
kim  into  a  great  f  ortin,  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  go  Aist 
and  prove  that  himself  was  himself  and  no  ither,  to  walk 
straight  into  that  fortin.  And  so  that  same  night  of  the 
blissid  first  av  April  Ean  got  all  ready  to  start;  and  be 
sunup  the  nixt  morning,  being  the  blissid  second  av  April, 
he  did  lave  the  camp  to  go  Aist." 

"Did  he  go  alone?"  inquired  the  hunter. 

"  Och,  no  !  A  good  friend  av  his  own — and  a  rale  gin- 
tleman  be  the  same  token,  though  meself  nivir  could  like 
him — wint  alang  with  him  for  kimpany,"  said  Judy. 

"Did  Ran  take  money  or  valuables  with  him?" 

"No,  no  money,  only  a  bag  of  goold,  but  that  same  was 
worth  hundreds  av  dollars." 

"Anything  else?" 

"Oh,  nothing  but  doctormints  and  papers  to  prove  him- 
self was  himself  legal  and  lawful." 

"Hum !  What  was  the  name  of  the  man  who  went  with 
him?" 

"With  Ean?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  with  Ean." 

"Limmy  see — limmy  see,  now!  I  don't  know  his  rale 
name.  The  bhoys  called  him  Gintleman  Geff,  'cause  he  was 
so  illigant.  Why,  he  was  that  illigant  I  had  to  do  up  six 
shirts  and  pairs  av  stocks  and  no  ind  to  the  handkerchers 
iviry  wake.  So  the  bhoys  called  him  Gintleman  Geff.  The 
bhoys  do  nickname  most  ivirybody.  Sure  they  called  me 
own  brother  No-Man's  Mike,  because  he  was  born  an 
orphint,  same  as  meself." 

"And  you  don't  know  Gentleman  Geff's  real  name?" 

"No,  I  don't." 


138  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"And  lie But  what  was  such  an  elegant  gentleman 

doing  in  the  mining  camp?" 

"Saying  the  worruld,  to  be  sure.    He  wasn't  no  miner." 

"How  did  he  live?" 

"He  won  money  at  cards  sometimes  and  stayed  in  Ran's 
cabin.  Ran  and  me  brother  was  pards ;  but  Ran  stayed  in 
his  own  cabin  and  me  brother  in  hizzen,  and  meself  kept 
hoose  for  me  brother  and  did  for  the  thra  av  thim." 

"I  see.  And  this  went  on  until  the  first  oi  April,  when 
the  news  of  his  great  fortune  came  to  Ran." 

"Yis,  sir." 

"How  did  this  news  come  to  such  an  out-of -the- world 
place  as  Grizzly?" 

"Ah,  thin,  did  ye  think  we  niver  say  a  newspaper  at 
Grizzly  at  all,  at  all?  Sure,  Ran  tuk  one  himself — the 
great  New  York  Wakely  Thrumpeter,  which  was  brought 
out  to  him  from  'Frisco  wanst  a  wake  be  the  ixpressman. 
He  saw  the  vartisement  in  that  for  the  nixt  av  kin  to  the 
great  Hay  fortin,  so  he  did,  and  he  knowed  that  were  him- 
self and  no  ither.  And  he  had  all  the  doctormints  and 
shiftickimints  about  marrying  and  christening  and  being 
born  into  'awful  weddinglock,  and  all  that,  which  his  own 
father  had  keerfully  tuk  keer  av  for  him,  and  whin  he  died, 
left  to  him  to  prove  himself  were  himself,  in  case  av  nade." 

"Exactly.  And  with  these  papers  Ran  Hay  departed  on 
the  morning  of  the  first  of  April,  accompanied  by  this 
Gentleman  Geff." 

"Yis." 

"Now,  why  do  you  suppose  this  elegant  gentleman  chose 
to  start  on  a  long  tramp  to  San  Francisco  with  Ran- 
dolph Hay?" 

"Not  a  bit  av  me  knows;  but  I  do  sippose,  as  the  gintle- 
man  was  tired  av  the  mining  camp  and  wanted  to  go  away, 
and  tuk  the  convanience  and  purtection  av  Ran's  kimpany 
to  go." 

"  Oh !  He  took  the  convenience  and  protection  of  Ran's 
company !  But  you,  a  little  girl,  came  through  the  wilder- 
ness alone !  You  had  no  protection !" 

"Yis,  I  had!  Tip's!  Besides,  I  nivir  thought  av  noth- 
ing but  finding  me  pore  bhoy.  But,  say,  I'm  all  risted  now. 
Shan't  we  go  on  and  see  Ran  ?"  Judy  impatiently  inquired. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  hunter,  who  had  long  finished  his 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  139 

meal,  and  had  been  engaged  in  feeding  the  scraps  to  Tip, 
who  exhibited,  as  the  result  of  his  long  journey  and  spare 
diet,  an  insatiable  appetite. 

"But,"  continued  the  hunter,  as  he  prepared  to  depart, 
"are  you  sure  that  Kan  will  be  glad  to  see  you?" 

"Me  own  thrue  Ran?  Glad  to  see  me?  What  div  ye 
mane  ?"  demanded  Judy,  in  perplexity  and  displeasure. 

"It  seems  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  the  son  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  has  come  into  a  large  fortune." 

"Yis,  that  is  all  thrue  enough.  He  is  a  gintleman,  and 
he  have  come  into  a  big  fortin;  but,  shure,  he  wouldn't  be 
the  laste  bit  av  a  gintleman  if  he  bruk  all  his  promises  to 
his  thrue  gurrl  because  he  have  got  a  fortin  and  she  has 
none.  But  that  will  niver  be.  It  isn't  only  a  gintleman  he 
is!  He's  that;  but  he's  something  betther  nor  that.  He's 
Kan !  d'ye  mind !  Ran !  And  that  same  manes  ivirything 
that  is  good  and  thrue  and  noble.  And  div  ye  nivir  hint 
a  brith  to  the  contrary  av  that,  or  I'll  nivir  spake  to  ye 
again !"  cried  Judy,  indignantly,  her  fine  face  flaming  into 
fiery  beauty. 

The  hunter  thought  that  this  was  a  poor  return  for  all 
his  kindness  to  the  wayfarer;  but  he  laughed,  and  began 
his  defense. 

"Why,  my  poor  girl " 

"Howld  yer  tongue!"  cried  the  fiery  young  daughter  of 
Erin.  "Shure,  I  know  what  ye  mane.  But  ye  shan't  say 
it.  Ye  mane  I'm  just  a  pore,  ignirint  gurrl,  not  fit  to  be  a 
gintleman's  wife !  But,  you  wait.  Ran  and  me — we  are  no 
f ales !  Ran  manes  to  go  to  college,  and  put  me  to  schule, 
and  me  brither  inter  any  ginteel  calling  he  likes.  Yoi>'ll 
see !" 

"Perhaps  I  may  and  perhaps  I  may  not  live  so  long;  but 
don't  be  angry  with  me,"  said  the  hunter,  good-humoredly. 

"  Oh,  shure,  I'm  not  angry  wid  ye  at  all,  at  all ;  for  what 
would  ail  me  to  be  angry  wid  ye,  and  ye  so  good  till  me  and 
me  dog  ?  Shure,  it's  only  mad  I  was,  wid  ye  spaking  avil  of 
me  bhoy ;  but  that's  all  over  now  ye  have  took  it  back.  But, 
did  ye  say  he  was  robbed  as  well  as  most  murthered  ?" 
,  "Yes." 

"And  his  bag  of  gold  gone?" 

"Yes." 


140  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Oh,  wirra,  wirra !  But  the  doctormints  and  shifticki- 
mints — they  are  all  right  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are  gone,  also,  for  there  was 
nothing  left  on  the  boy's  person  but  his  clothes,"  said  the 
hunter. 

Judy  stared. 

"Thin,  how  the  mischief  did  ye  know  it  was  Ean?  Ye 
nivir  seed  him  before." 

"I  didn't;  but  a  lady  at  the  fort,  who  had  known  his 
mother  in  her  lifetime  and  himself  in  his  childhood, 
recognized  him." 

"And  the  doctormints,  and  the  shiftifikits,  all  gone,  did 
ye  say?"  demanded  Judy,  suddenly  recurring  to  the  pre- 
vious question. 

"Yes,  I  said  so;  that  is,  I  said  that  there  was  nothing 
found  with  the  boy  but  the  clothes  on  his  back." 

"  Och,  hone !  Oh,  howly  mither  of  Moses !  thin  he'll 
niver  be  able  to  prove  that  himself 's  himself,  and  walk  into 
the  great  fortin,"  howled  Judy. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  may.  The  documents,  if  he  had  them  about 
him " 

"If  he  had  them  about  him !  Shure,  ain't  I  afther  tell- 
ing you  he  did  have  thim  ?"  tartly  demanded  Judy. 

"What  a  little  spitfire  you  are !  Well,  granted  that  he 
had  them  about  him,  they  must  have  been  only  attested 
copies,  the  original  records  being  in  some  parish  register," 
patiently  replied  the  colossus. 

"And  whafs  all  that  maning?  Shure,  meself  don't 
know." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  go  to  school,  true  enough,"  said  the 
hunter;  and  he  explained  to  her  the  relative  value  and 
security  of  recorded  documents  and  attested  copies. 

"  Thin,  be  the  powers  above,  it's  a  goode  thing  he  did  not 
carry  away  the  parish  bookes  instead  av  the  copy  bookes !" 
exclaimed  Judy. 

The  hunter  laughed  aloud;  and  after  that  they  trudged 
on  in  silence,  followed  by  the  dog,  until  the  man,  noticing 
how  nearly  worn  ouj;  by  her  two  days'  walk  the  girl  seemed 
to  be,  turned,  and  said: 

"You  poor,  little,  tired  thing,  let  me  take  you  up  and 
tote  you.  I  could  do  it  as  easy  as  you  could  carry  a  doll." 
he  made  a  motion  to  lift  her. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  141 

"Don't  you  dar'  to  tetch  me!"  she  cried,  with  flashing 
eyes,  springing  to  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

Tip  growled,  and  showed  his  teeth. 

"  All  right !  Just  as  you  say !  No  off ense  whatever. 
Only  you  needn't  snap  a  man's  head  off  for  wanting  to  do 
you  a  kindness,"  laughed  the  hunter. 

"Then  be  after  kaping  yer  hands  to  ye'self,"  said  Judy, 
her  temper  subsiding. 

"Just  so.  Now  will  you  come  along?  See!  I  have  got 
both  hands  in  my  pockets.  And  if  we  don't  walk  on  we 
shall  not  reach  the  fort  before  the  tattoo  beats  and  then  we 
can't  see  Ean  to-night." 


CHAPTEK   XY 

THE  MEETING 

JUDY  needed  no  other  spur.  She  hastened  on  before, 
walking  fast  in  spite  of  her  fatigue  and  looking  back  from 
time  to  time  to  hurry  her  companion,  who  pretended  to  lag 
behind. 

"It's  ye'self  is  lazy!"  she  said,  at  length.  "If  I  was  a 
great,  big,  tall,  long-legged  man  like  you  are,  I  would  not 
be  craping  along  like  a  snail." 

"I  was  afraid  of  intruding  on  your  ladyship,"  said  the 
man. 

"  Traid  o>  what?" 

"Of  crowding  you,  then!" 

"  Oh,  thin  dickins  a  fear  av  me  letting  you  do  that  same. 
Kim  along  faster,  do." 

They  walked  on  with  increased  speed  through  the  thick 
woods,  until  they  reached  a  point  in  the  trail  where  a  very 
narrow  path  diverged  from  the  right. 

They  were  now  very  near  the  spot  where  Ran  Hay  had 
been  shot.  But  the  hunter  forbore  to  mention  the  fact  to 
the  girl. 

"Turn!"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  path.  "This  is  our 
way,  and  let  me  go  first  to  clear  it;  the  timber  is  very  close 
here." 

He  entered  the  path,  pushing  aside  the  interlacing  bushes 
to  allow  hie  companion  to  follow  him. 


142  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

The  path  soon  began  to  turn  and  turn  again,  upon  itself, 
in  a  "walls  of  Troy"  pattern,  down  a  precipice  that  conld  be 
descended  in  no  other  way. 

Judy,  close  behind  her  stalwart  guide,  protected  by  his 
bulk,  walked  in  safety,  followed  by  her  dog. 

In  half  an  hour  they  reached  the  bottom  and  found  them- 
selves in  the  deep  and  narrow  valley  known  as  Longman's 
Gulch,  with  a  little  stream  running  through  its  bottom,  and 
another  precipice  of  rocks  rising  on  the  opposite  side. 

"Now  here's  my  cabin,"  said  the  hunter,  pointing  to  the 
log  hut  concealed  by  the  low  growth  of  saplings  at  the  roof 
on  the  steep.  "And  if  you  are  tired  you  had  better  go  in 
and  rest  a  while." 

"No,  no,  no,  let  us  go  on.  Where's  the  fort?'J  inquired 
Judy. 

"Up  on  the  table-land  on  the  top  of  that  bank,  and  about 
a  mile  away.  The  sun  is  an  hour  and  a  half  high  and  you 
will  have  time  to  rest  a  little  while,  and  then  be  able  to 
reach  the  fort  before  tattoo." 

"When  is  tattoo,  thin?" 

"At  sunset." 

"And  the  sun  only  an  hour  and  a  half  high.  And  that 
steep  hillside  to  climb,  and  the  fort  a  mile  off.  Oh,  thin, 
let's  go  straight  on,"  exclaimed  Judy,  leading  the  way. 

Longman  hurried  after  her.  The  dog  after  both.  They 
reached  the  edge  of  the  stream. 

"You  will  have  to  let  me  carry  you  over  this !"  said  the 
hunter. 

"No,  you  don't !"  exclaimed  Judy,  taking  a  rapid  survey 
of  possibilities,  and  springing  down  to  the  lowest  edge, 
gathered  up  her  skirts,  and  leaped  lightly  from  rock  to 
rock  in  the  bed  of  the  brook,  until  she  had  crossed  the 
water  and  "landed"  safely  on  the  other  side. 

"Hoo-rah-h!"  shouted  the  hunter,  as  he  waved  his  old 
fur  cap  in  circles  around  his  head,  making  the  rocks  and 
caverns  echo  all  around. 

Then  he  strode  after  her,  stepping  from  rock  to  rock 
with  long  strides  until  he  had  crossed  the  stream.  The  dog 
swam  after  and  climbed  the  bank  and  shook  a  shower  all 
over  them. 

The  three  stood  for  a  moment  to  recover  breath,  and 
then  the  hunter  said : 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  14*3 

"Now  we  must  climb  this  steep.  It  is  a  great  deal  worse 
than  the  other.  I  must  put  you  before  me,  Miss  Judy,  so 
that  if  you  slip  I  may  catch  you  and  prevent  you  from  fall- 
ing to  the  bottom — which  would  be  death.  But  don't  be 
afraid.  I  will  not  lay  finger  on  you,  you  little  touch-me- 
not,  unless  it  be  to  save  your  life/' 

After  this  explanation  he  pointed  to  an  opening  in  the 
brushwood  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  from  which  the  path 
began  to  ascend. 

Judy  went  into  it  and  began  to  climb.  Longman  went 
after  and  kept  close  behind  her.  The  dog  followed. 

The  path  zigzagged,  here  and  there,  following  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  face  of  the  steep.  Judy  found  it  very  hard, 
especially  as  she  had  to  go  in  front  for  her  own  safety. 
Several  times  she  slipped,  and  but  for  the  strong  arms  held 
out  behind  her  she  must  have  gone  to  the  bottom. 

At  length  they  reached  the  top  in  safety. 

"All  the  holy  saints  be  praised!"  cried  Judy,  fervently, 
as  she  stood  upon  the  broad  table-land  panting  for  breath. 

The  hunter  took  off  his  fur  cap  and  wiped  the  perspir- 
ation from  his  face. 

The  dog  scrambled  to  the  top  and  stood  and  shook  him- 
self. 

Judy  looked  around  her. 

Not  a  tree  or  shrub  grew  on  this  table-land,  only  a  sort 
of  coarse  grass. 

Eut  opposite  to  them,  against  the  western  horizon,  she 
saw  the  dark  line  of  the  picket  wall  of  the  fort,  brought  into 
bolder  relief  by  the  sun  shining  behind  it. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  said  Judy,  impatiently. 

"As  soon,  as  you  have  got  your  breath,"  replied  the 
hunter. 

"Sure  Fve  got  it  now,"  said  Judy. 

And  she  started  at  a  rapid  rate  to  walk  across  the  table- 
land toward  the  fort. 

Longman  walked  after  her  and  overtook  her. 

The  dog  followed  as  before. 

A  twenty  minutes'  fast  walk  brought  them  to  the  gates 
of  the  fort. 

Jerry  Noddin  happened  again  to  be  on  duty  there. 

"Whisht  J  Is  it  yourself,  Sammy  ?  And  sure  it's  a  purty 
gurrl  ye  have  got  in  the  wake,"  said  the  latter. 


144  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Stow  that !  The  young  lady  is  a  relation  of  the 
wounded  man,  and  has  come  all  the  way  from  Grizzly  to 
look  after  him,"  replied  the  hunter,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  The  divil  ye  say !  Is  it  a  swishter  or  a  cousin  she  is  t 
And  how  the  divil  did  she,  living  at  Grizzly,  know  about 
he  Being  kilt  entirely  at  Longman's?"  demanded  the 
sentinel. 

"She  was  warned  by  a  dream,"  replied  the  hunter, 
answering  the  second  question,  but  ignoring  the  first,  as  he 
did  not  wish  to  expose  Judy  to  the  "chaff"  of  the  soldiers. 

"Warrnd  be  a  dhrame?  Och,  noo,  tell  that  same  to  the 
horse  marines !" 

"Well,  she  thinks  she  was,  and  it's  all  the  same  to  her. 
Come,  Miss  Judy,"  he  said  to  the  girl,  who  had  lingered 
behind  and  had  heard  no  word  of  this  conversation. 
"Come,  we  will  go  on  to  the  hospital  where  Mr.  Hay  is 
lying." 

Judy  came  up  and  joined  him,  and,  still  followed  by  the 
faithful  hound,  they  passed,  at  this  hour,  unchallenged  into 
the  fort,  crossed  the  inclosure  and  went  to  the  northwest 
angle  of  the  wall,  where  stood  the  hospital  and  the  surgeon's 
quarters.  An  orderly  was  on  duty  at  the  door. 

"Is  Dr.  Hill  inside?"  inquired  the  hunter. 

"Oh,  yes— he's  there." 

"Can  you  send  word  to  him  that  a  relative  of  the 
wounded  boy  is  out  here,  come  to  see  him  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Tom" — to  a  man  loitering  near — "go  inside 
and  tell  the  surgeon  there's  a  lady  here  come  to  see  the 
wounded  gentleman,"  said  the  orderly. 

The  person  addressed  passed  in,  and  soon  returned, 
accompanied  by  the  surgeon. 

"Ah,  Longman!  Is  thisjou?  And  this  young" — the 
surgeon  looked  at  Judy  in  some  doubt,  but  gave  her  and 
politeness  the  benefit  of  it,  and  said — "lady?"' 

"She  is  a  relation  of  Mr.  Hay's,  and  has  come  from 
Grizzly  to  see  him,"  replied  the  hunter. 

The  surgeon  bowed  to  the  "young  laxty,"  who  hastened 
to  add : 

"Oh,  yis !  if  ye  plaise,  docther  dear,  and  how  is  me  pore 
bhoy  the  day  ?" 

.The  surgeon  contemplated  the  eager,  pretty  face  with 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  145 

some  surprise  and  perplexity;  but  with  more  interest  and 
sympathy  as  he  answered : 

"Mr.  Hay  is  doing  very  well.  He  is  out  of  bodily 
danger." 

"The  holy  saints  be  praised!"  cried  Judy,  clasping  her 
hands,  and  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  But — I  was  about  to  say,  his  mind  still  wanders,  and 
it  may  be  some  time  before  that  is  quite  right.  You  must 
be  prepared  for  this." 

"I'm  prepeered  for  ivirything,  sir!  Will  ye  let  me  see 
him?"  pleaded  Judy. 

"  Certainly !  Come  with  me,"  said  the  surgeon,  leading 
the  way  to  the  interior  of  the  hospital  and  to  the  ward 
where  Kan  lay. 

He  was  the  only  patient  in  the  room,  of  four  cots.  He 
lay  upon  one  in  a  corner  between  a  west  and  northwest 
window,  covered  up  to  his  chin  with  a  white  counterpane, 
over  the  outside  of  which  his  arms  were  stretched  and  his 
hands  straying;  his  bandaged  head  resting  on  a  white 
pillow. 

"Oh!  me  pore  bhoy!  me  poor  bhoy!"  moaned  Judy, 
under  her  breath,  as  she  caught  sight  of  him. 

"You  must  be  quiet.  You  must  not  make  a  noise,"  whis- 
pered the  surgeon. 

" Oh,  I  will  be  quite !  I  will  be  quite  as  death ;  but  may  I 
spake  to  him  ?"  pleaded  Judy. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  may  speak  to  him,  calmly,  you  know." 

"Oh,  yes !  sure  I'll  be  carrm  as  a  Carmelite  nun  itself," 
said  Judy,  as  she  crept  on  tiptoe  to  the  fide  of  Kan's  cot 
and  gazed  silently  upon  the  pallid  face,  looking  still  more 
pallid  in  contrast  to  the  thick,  black  eyebrows  and  the  long 
black  eyelashes  of  his  closed  eyelids. 

"Is  he  aslape,  thin?"  inquired  Judy,  turning  to  the  sur- 
geon, who  had  come  up  behind  her. 

"No,  he  is  not  asleep.  Speak  to  him.  See  if  he  will 
know  you  now." 

Judy  bent  over  him,  and  said,  softly : 

"Ean !  Kan,  darlint !  Look  at  me !  I'm  yer  own  Judy, 
come  to  see  ye !  Spake  to  me." 

The  beautiful  dark  eyes  of  the  wounded  boy  slowly 
opened  and  gazed  upon  the  bowed,  earnest  face  of  the  girl ; 
but  there  was  no  recognition  in  them. 


a  46  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Oh,  Ran !  don't  ye  know  me?    Don't  ye  know  yer  own 
Judy?    Spake  to  me,  Kan !" 

Still  gazing  blankly  in  her  face,  he  crooned : 

"  'And  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day.'  " 


CHAPTER   XVI 

BRIDE  AND  BRIDEGROOM 

CLEVB  STUART'S  troubles  commenced  with  his  honey- 
moon— -ignoble,  financial  troubles,  which  he  knew  very  well 
he  was  bringing  upon  himself  by  marrying  Palma  Hay. 

But  he  did  not  repine  even  in  his  secret  heart. 

"I  have  deserved  all  I  may  be  called  upon  to  suffer,"  he 
said  to  himself,  in  the  spirit  of  an  expiator.  "I  have  de- 
served the  worst,  not  for  wedding  Palma  after  I  had  dis- 
covered her  to  be  penniless,  but  for  having  proposed  to 
marry  the  invalid  girl  when  I  supposed  her  to  be  wealthy. 
Yes,  I  have  deserved  all,  and  more  than  all,  that  I  may 
have  to  bear.  But  she  ought  never  to  suffer,  and  she  never 
shall  do  so  if  any  labor  or  self-denial  on  my  part  can  save 
her  from  it,  and  so  I  trust  my  soul  may  be  purged  of  its  sin 
against  her." 

No  sign  of  Cleve's  inward  distress  appeared  on  his  coun- 
tenance, in  his  manner,  or  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  while 
he  was  with  Palma,  so  that  she  truly  believed  him  to  be  as 
happy  as  she  was  herself. 

And  if  with  her  he  was  always  bright,  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated, this  mood  was  not  altogether  the  effect  of  self-com- 
mand, but  that  of  her  influence  upon  him. 

There  was  a  sphere  of  love,  peace  and  innocence  ema- 
nating from  the  spirit  of  the  young  girl  that  seemed  to 
envelop  him  as  soon  as  he  came  within  its  circle. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  in  this  world  a  happier  bride 
than  Palma  Stuart.  She  was  not  surrounded  by  splendor, 
but  by  sunshine.  She  was  not  "lapped  in  luxury,"  but  in 
elysium.  She  was  growing  stronger  every  day.  She  was 
getting  well.  Her  nurse,  landlady  and  fellow  boarders  saw 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  1*7 

it  and  commented  on  it.  Cleve  Stuart  recognized  the  fact 
and  knew  that  she  was  most  likely  to  live  to  be  his  life-long 
companion. 

He  knew  that  under  the  divine  providence  he  himself  had 
saved  her  life ;  he  knew,  too — oh !  dark  and  dreadful  knowl- 
edge!— that  he  had  now,  in  her  condition,  the  power  of 
life  and  death  over  her — a  power  that  he  might  exercise 
without  responsibility  to  any  earthly  tribunal.  It  would 
only  need  to  withdraw  his  kind  looks  and  words  and  acts, 
and  substitute  cold  contempt,  quiet  aversion,  forbearance  of 
caresses,  avoidance  of  her  presence — to  send  her  back  to  her 
former  state  of  debility,  even  unto  death — to  see  her  wither 
as  a  flower  withers  when  deprived  of  sunshine  and  of  dew. 

But  not  to  gain  the  throne  of  the  world  would  Cleve 
Stuart  have  taken  this  course  with  his  little-loved  bride. 

On  the  contrary,  he  devoted  himself  to  her,  and  made  her 
happy,  and  so  raised  her  from  illness  and  restored  her  to 


But  how  were  they  to  live? 

As  has  been  said,  Cleve  Stuart  had  been  brought  up  with- 
out a  profession,  and  in  the  expectation  of  inheriting  a  rich 
Mississippi  plantation.  He  had  returned  from  his  years  of 
Eastern  travel,  after  civil  war  had  devastated  his  native 
country,  to  learn  that  his  plantation,  was  a  desert,  its  build- 
ings burned  to  the  ground,  its  stock  carried  off,  its  laborers 
fled,  its  land  grown  up  in  weeds,  the  whole  turned  into  a 
howling  wilderness  that  would  require' many  thousands  of 
dollars  and  some  years  of  time  to  reclaim.  For  the  present 
that  ruined  plantation  must  be  left  to  itself.  But  how  was 
he  to  live  and  to  support  his  invalid  wife  ? 

The  idea  of  his  bachelor  life  had  been  to  seek  some 
employment  as  bookkeeper  in  some  mercantile  establish- 
ment, clerk  in  some  office,  or  usher  in  some  school,  and  to 
devote  his  leisure  hours  to  the  study  of  law.  But  the  whole 
of  that  plan  could  not  be  carried  out  under  present  circum- 
stances. He  might  get  employment  possibly,  and  he  would 
get  it  if  he  could,  but  his  leisure  time  must  be  devoted  not 
to  the  study  of  law,  but  to  the  care  of  his  delicate  young 
bride. 

The  first  step  was  to  seek  the  needed  employment. 

He  took  the  Trumpeter  and  searched  its  advertising  col- 
umns. He  made  a  list  of  every  advertisement  for  book- 


148  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

keepers,  clerks  and  teachers,  and  answered  every  one  of 
them,  for  he  said  to  himself,  quoting  an  old  proverb : 

"If  one  don't  succeed,  another  can't  fail.'r 

He  spent  a  day  in  answering  the  advertisements,  and  a 
dollar  in  postage  stamps. 

But  nothing  came  of  all  this.  Clearly  the  proverb  was 
not  infallible. 

Then  he  descended  a  step  lower  and  answered  an  adver- 
tisement for  a  private  secretary ;  but  with  no  better  success. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  try  for  a  coachman's  place.  I 
can  handle  the  ribbons  pretty  well,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  at  the  recollection  of  the  time  when  lie  used  to  drive 
tandem  and  to  be  reckoned  a  crack  whip  on  the  English 
highroads. 

At  length  he  advertised  on  his  own  account  for  a  situa- 
tion as  clerk,  teacher,  or  bookkeeper;  but  the  money  he 
paid  for  the  advertisement  was  thrown  away.  He  did  not 
get  one  single  offer. 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  not  be  just  as  hard  to  find  a 
coachman's  place  or  a  groom's,  or  butler's  or  a  waiter's  ?"  he 
asked  himself,  with  a  laugh — "for  there  seems  to  be  no 
place  in  the  world  for  a  poor  gentleman,  even  though  he 
may  be  willing  and  anxious  to  work." 

Meanwhile  the  season  was  advancing,  and  the  Pine 
Mountain  House  was  being  filled  up  with  guests.  It  was  a 
small  but  very  popular  place  of  summer  resort,  in  a  high, 
wooded  country,  within  an  easy  walk  to  the  railway  station 
and  the  steamboat  landing,  and  within  little  more  than  an 
hour's  run  by  rail  to  New  York.  The  terms,  also,  were 
moderate.  , 

These  were  the  attractions  that  drew  Cleve  Stuart,  as 
well  as  others,  to  the  place. 

He  paid  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  for  himself,  his  wife 
and  her  attendant. 

Near  the  first  of  June  Cleve  paid  for  his  fourth  week  at 
the  "Pines,"  and  then  he  went  to  his  room  to  examine  his 
accounts.  He  was  alone. 

Palma  was  sitting  out  on  the  piazza,  attended  by  Mrs. 
Pole.  She,  poor  child,  knew  nothing  of  her  husband's 
anxieties.  She  thought  of  him  as  one  possessing  almost 
unlimited  power,  and  she  rested  confident  and  satisfied  with 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  149 

her  dependence  upon  him.  Nor  would  he,  on  any  account, 
have  dispelled  this  illusion. 

Novf  he  drew  down  the  front  blinds,  sat  down  to  the 
little  center  table,  with  his  back  to  the  windows,  and  opened 
his  pocketbook,  and  counted  his  money.  He  had  just  sixty- 
five  dollars  left — not  enough  to  pay  another  month's  board 
at  the  Pines. 

Something  must  be  done — but  what  ? 

Board  to  suit  every  degree  of  means  might  be  found  in 
the  city,  and  the  small  remnant  of  his  funds  might  be  eked 
out  even  for  two  months ;  but  he  could  not  now,  when  the 
weather  was  beginning  to  grow  hot  and  people  were*  leaving 
the  city,  take  his  fragile  wife  back  thus,  except  at  the  risk 
of  her  health  and  life.  She  required  the  mountain  and 
woodland  air,  as  well  as  all  his  love  and  care  to  establish 
her  health,  and  come  what  might,  Palma's  welfare  must  be 
his  first  consideration.  She  was  doing  so  well  here  it  would 
be  cruel,  and  might  be  fatal,  to  take  her  away.  Besides,  she 
had  formed  a  little  circle  of  friends  among  the  people  in  the 
house,  who  were  deeply  interested  in  her,  and  upon  whom 
she  bestowed  all  the  affection  she  could  possibly  spare- from 
her  adored  Cleve,  and  from  her  esteemed  Poley.  The  story 
of  her  romantic  marriage  had  got  about  among  the  guests, 
and  had  inspired  sympathy  for  the  young  pair.  Much 
admiration  was  spoken  apart,  in  groups,  for  the  young  man 
who  had  returned  from  his  extended  tour  over  the  eastern 
hemisphere,  to  find  his  betrothed  dying  of  a  decline,  and 
had  married  her  that  he  might  be  always  near  her  and  take 
personal  care  of  her,  while  she  should  live;  and  who  had, 
by  the  way,  taken  such  excellent  and  such  successful  care  of 
her  that  he  was  really  restoring  her  to  health. 

And  quietly,  unostentatiously,  they  all  helped  him  in  this 
sacred  duty,  by  judiciously  coddling  and  petting  the  pretty 
little  invalid  bride. 

Cleve  saw  that  Palma  was  beloved,  caressed,  popular, 
happy  and  growing  healthy  in  her  present  surroundings, 
and  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  taking  her  away,  until 
the  season  should  be  over,  if  by  any  labor  or  by  any  sacri- 
fice on  his  part  he  could  keep  her  there. 

But  how  to  do  this,  if  he  could  get  no  employment  ? 

He  sat  staring  at  the  fifty-dollar  greenback,  the  ten- 


150  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

dollar  note,  the  five-dollar  note,  and  the  four  silver  quarters 
that  represented  the  whole  of  his  capital 
Suddenly  a  bright  thought  struck  him. 

"I  am  richer  than  I  supposed,"  he  said. 

And  he  went  to  his  trunk,  unlocked  it,  and  took  out  a 
small,  steel-bound  oaken  casket,  brought  it  to  the  table, 
touched  a  secret  spring  and  opened  it. 

A  little  tray  of  diamonds  flashed  before  his  eyes.  There 
were  a  pair  of  sleeve  buttons,  each  a  solitaire  large  as  a 
pea;  there  were  three  front  studs,  each  a  solitaire,  but 
smaller  than  the  buttons ;  there  was  a  scarf-pin,  a  cluster  of 
brilliants ;  and  there  was  a  ring  with  another  solitaire. 

He  smiled  in  self-pity,  not  unmixed  with  a  little  self- 
reproach,  as  he  looked  at  these  jewels.  He  had  bought  them 
in  his  prosperous  and  dandy  days,  years  ago,  in  Paris :  and 
had  liked  to  display  some  or  all  of  them  on  proper  occa- 
sions. But  since  his  arrival  at  years  of  discretion — if, 
indeed,  he  had  reached  that  desirable  time  of  life — and 
especially  since  his  return  to  the  United  States,  he  had 
never  wished  'to  wear  them  and  had  never  done  so.  They 
had  lain  away  in  his  trunk,  never  thought  of,  really  for- 
gotten until  this  hour. 

Now  he  began  to  compute  their  value. 

"These  sleeve  buttons,  if  I  remember  right,  cost  me 
five  thousand  francs ;  these  studs  three  thousand ;  the  scarf- 
pin  and  the  ring  somewhere  about  two  thousand  each,  in  all 
about  twelve  thousand  francs,  or  about  two  thousand  four 
hundred  of  our  money.  Diamonds,  I  suppose,  have  risen 
in  price  as  everything  else  has  during  the  war;  yet  I  doubt 
if  I  can  get  more  than  fifteen  hundred  for  these,  at  a  forced 
sale ;  however,  I  will  sell  only  one  at  a  time." 

And  Cleve  Stuart  closed  his  casket  and  locked  it  up  in 
his  trunk  with  the  feeling  of  having  come  into  a  small  for- 
tune unexpectedly. 

He  went  out  with  a  brighter  mien  than  usual,  and  took  a 
seat  beside  his  young  wife. 

At  that  time  there  happened  to  be  no  one  else  on  the 
front  piazza. 

She  was  reading  an  evening  paper  that  had  been  loaned 
her  by  a  gentleman  who  had  just  brought  it  up  from  the 
city— one  of  those  gentlemen  who  went  every  morning  by 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  151 

the  early  train  to  their  business  in  the  city,  and  returned 
every  afternoon,  in  the  same  way,  to  their  families  at  the 
Pine  Mountain  House. 

"Oh,  see  here,  Cleve  I"  she  eagerly  exclaimed,  looking  up 
from  the  paper.  "Here  is  news  of  a  relation  of  mine  whom 
I  never  heard  of  before  in  all  the  days  of  my  life  I" 

"Ah,  indeed !"  said  Stuart,  immediately  snowing  interest. 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"And  who  may  that  be?" 

"Mr.  Eandolph  Hay,  of  Haymore,  late  of  California," 

"But  if  you  never  heard  of  him  before  in  all  your  life, 
how  do  you  know  he  is  a  relation  of  yours  ?"  laughed  Stuart, 
who  knew  very  well  whom  she  meant. 

"Because  he  is  a  Hay,  of  Haymore.  And  Haymore  is  my 
grandfather's  seat  in  Yorkshire,  England,  of  which  I  have 
heard  my  father  speak.  Just  listen  while  I  read  this  to 
you." 

"Very  well,  my  pet,  go  on." 

"'SOCIETY  NEWS 

"'Mr.  Eandolph  Hay,  late  of  San  Francisco/ who  has 
just  succeeded  to  one  of  the  finest  old  estates  in  England — 
namely,  Haymore,  in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire — sailed 
for  Liverpool  last  week  to  take  formal  possession  of  his 
rich  inheritance.  It  appears  that  the  father  of  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph Hay  emigrated  to  California,  and  married  in  that 
State.  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  was  born  in  San  Francisco,  and 
considers  himself  a  native  American.  He  lost  both  parents 
a  few  years  ago,  but  has  ever  since  lived  in  the  Gold  State. 
By  the  death  of  his  grandfather,  some  months  since,  he  has 
come  into  the  inheritance  of  Haymore.  But  such  is  his 
strong  attachment  to  the  land  of  his  birth,  that — it  is  con* 
fidently  asserted — he  will  let  or  leave  his  English  manor  in 
the  hands  of  his  bailiff,  and  make  his  permanent  home  in 
New  York ;  and  that  on  his  return  from  England  he  is  soon 
to  lead  to  the  hymeneal  altar  the  beautiful  and  accom- 
plished Miss  Lamia  Leegh.  The  bride  and  bridegroom- 
elect  have  our  heartiest  congratulations/ 

"There!    What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

.Cleve  Stuart  had  turned  pale.    He  did  not  reply. 


152  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Palma  still  had  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  paper,  and  failed 
to  observe  his  change  of  color. 

"I  did  not  know  I  had  a  cousin  in  the  world.  He's  the 
son  of  that  uncle  who  was  killed  in  California/'  she  went 
on. 

"Do  you  know  much  about  your  father's  family,  Palma  ?v 
inquired  Stuart. 

"No;  very  little.  I  can  just  vaguely  remember  bits  of 
conversation  between  my  father  and  my  mother — both  of 
whom  went  to  heaven  before  I  was  six  years  old,  you  know 
— and  which  gave  me  some  faint  idea  of  their  condition  in 
life.  But  these  impressions  are  'void  and  without  form,' 
except  one  fact  which  is  very  clear — that  both  my  father 
and  his  next  eldest  brother  were  discarded  by  my  grand- 
father, the  first  for  marrying  my  mother,  and  the  second 
for  refusing  to  take  holy  orders  and  go  into  the  living  that 
was  in  the  gift  of  the  squire.  My  dear  father  died,  as  you 
know,  in  New  York.  My  uncle  was  killed,  as  we  heard,  in 
California.  I  suppose  this  fine,  new  cousin  of  mine  must 
be  the  son  of  the  Californian." 

"Why  not  the  son  of  the  eldest  son,  and  heir  of  the 
squire  ?" 

"Oh !  he  was  killed — unmarried — before  my  father  died ; 
killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  while  hunting.  I  remember 
hearing  about  that  while  my  dear  father  was  in  his  last  ill- 
ness. You  see  what  a  fatality  follows  the  family — two  sons 
killed  out  of  three,  and  the  other  dying  in  his  early  prime 
of  manhood." 

"Yes,  it  is  strange  and  terrible/'  said  Stuart,  vaguely. 
His  thoughts  were  somewhere  else. 

"And  to  think  that  I,  who  did  not  know  that  I  had  a 
relative  in  the  world  except  my  aged  grandfather,  who  had 
discarded  my  father,  should  have  this  one  cousin  in  New 
York.  It  seems  so  very  strange." 

"My  dear,  since  you  thought  you  had  no  relative  in  the 
world  except  your  grandfather,  now  deceased,  did  it  never 
occur  to  you  that  in  such  a  case  you  would  be  his  heiress  ?" 
gravely  inquired  Stuart. 

Palma  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

He  laughed,  and  repeated  his  question.  Then  she  an- 
swered : 

"Never !    Never  once !    I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  153 

inheriting  the  kingdom  of  England  as  the  manor  of  Hay- 
more  !" 

"And  yet,  but  for  the  turning  up  of  this  Californian, 
you  might  have  come  into  the  estates,"  gravely  observed 
Stuart. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  for  the  elder  brother  the  younger  might 
succeed,"  said  Palma,  smiling.  "But  now  tell  me  about  the 
lady  whom  my  cousin  is  going  to  marry.  You  have  mixed 
freely  with  fashionable  society  in  New  York.  D'o  you  know 
'the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Miss  Lamia  Leegh  ?' " 

"Yes,  I  know  her,"  replied  Stuart,  changing  color  and 
trying  to  steady  his  voice. 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  her.  I  love  to  hear  about  brides  and 
brides-elect.  Is  she  beautiful,  or  is  that  only  newspaper 
gossip  ?"_ 

"She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life,"  replied  Stuart,  in  a  low,  trembling  tone. 

"Oh!  describe  her  to  me,  Cleve.  Is  she  blond  or  bru- 
nette?" 

"Blond." 

"Well,  describe  her  to  me  as  you  can  describe.  Make  me 
see  her,  standing  right  before  us,  as  you  see  her  in  your 
memory." 

Stuart  summoned  all  his  powers  of  self-control,  steadied 
his  nerves  and  tones,  and  drew  a  vocal  picture  of  the  splen- 
did blond  Juno  who  had  dazzled  him  out  of  his  senses  and 
his  honor  and  then  discarded  him.  But  he  did  not  tell  his 
wife  that. 

"What  a  divine  beauty  she  must  be,  Cleve !  The  daugh- 
ter of  a  New  York  millionaire,  of  course!"  said  Palma, 
reveling  in  the  picture  without  a  particle  of  envy  or  jeal- 
ousy. 

"No,  my  dear,"  gravely  replied  Stuart,  who  had  recov- 
ered his  self-possession — "no,  'Fortune  never  comes  with 
both  hands  full/  never  bestows  marvelous  beauty  and  enor- 
mous wealth  on  the  same  individual." 

"What  is  she,  then  ?" 

"A  governess  in  Peter  Vansitart's  family." 

"0-h-h !"  exclaimed  Palma,  in  much  surprise.  "I  thought 
at  least  she  was  a  young  lady  of  fashion." 

"  She  is,  notwithstanding  her  'condition  of  servitude/  " 
replied  Stuart,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 


154s  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Why— how  is  that  ?"  inquired  Palma 

"It  is  because  she  is  a  woman  with  a  genius  for  success, 
and  circumstances  have  favored  her  ambition." 

"I — do  not  understand,"  said  Palma,  slowly. 

"Of  course,  you  do  not,  my  dear.  This  is  the  way  of  it : 
Lamia  Leegh  is  as  beautiful  and  accomplished  as  she  is 
represented  to  be.  She  is  also  magnetic  and  fascinating. 
In  a  fashionable  drawing  room  she  is  a  sun — a  splendor 
She  is  the  great  attraction  in  Mrs.  Vansitart's  receptions. 
Very  few  people,  if  any,  know  that  she  is  the  family  gover- 
ness. She  has  gained  quite  an  ascendancy  over  Mrs.  Van- 
sitart's mind,  always  receives  with  her,  as  if  she  were  a 
younger  sister.  And  as  the  elder  had  no  daughters  ready 
to  come  out  and  be  thrown  in  the  shade  by  the  splendor  of 
Lamia's  beauty,  and  no  sons  old  enough  to  be  dazzled  and 
distracted  by  the  same,  the  lady  sees  no  danger  in  bringing 
forward  this  resplendent  goddess  as  the  belle  of  her  draw- 
ing rooms." 

"I  begin  to  see.  Well,  it  is  a  great  advance  for  the  beau- 
tiful governess  to  marry  the  wealthy  English  squire.  Is 
she  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful  ?"  dreamily  inquired  Palma. 

"No,"  emphatically  answered  Stuart. 

"No?"  questioned  Palma,  in  surprise. 

"No.  She  is  a  cold,  heartless,  unprincipled,  unscrupulous 
adventuress." 

"Why,  Cleve !" 

"She  has  one  aim  and  object  in  life — to  rise  in  the  social 
scale.  To  that  she  would  sacrifice  truth,  honor  and  justice ; 
to  that  she  would  immolate  any  friend,  relative,  or  bene- 
factor." 

"Why,  Cleve  P 

"My  child,  I  ought  not  to  tell  you  these  things.  I  ought 
not  to  sully  your  pure  mind  with  the  knowledge  of  these 
evils.  Pardon  me,  Palma,"  said  Stuart,  patiently ;  and  yet 
he  felt  that  it  had  done  him  good  so  to  expose  and  censure 
Lamia  Leegh.  In  holding  her  up  in  her  true  character  to 
Palma's  view  he  had  also  held  her  up  to  his  own,  and  was 
thus  enabled  better  to  realize  her  selfishness  and  wicked- 
ness. 

"But  how  do  you  know?"  was  the  pertinent  question  of 
Palma. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  155 

"From  close  observation  of  the  woman.  Let  us  talk  no 
more  of  her." 

"But  you  will  go  and  see  my  cousin  when  you  return  to 
New  York,  and  you  will  tell  him  about  me  and  ask  him  to 
call  and  see  me?" 

"I  think  not,  Palma." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  we  cannot  know  him  without  your  knowing  his 
wife,  and  I  should  not  like  you  to  know  her." 

"Very  well,  then.  I  shall  not  care  much  te  miss  the 
acquaintance  of  a  cousin  whom  I  have  never  seen,"  she 
said. 

A  number  of  the  guests  who  had  been  out  walking  now 
returned  to  the  house  and  stepped  upon  the  piazza. 

Stuart  arose  to  give  his  seat  to  a  lady  who  had  been  kind 
to  Palma. 

He  sauntered  to  the  end  of  the  porch,  and  stood  there 
looking  off  into  vacancy  and  anathematizing  himself  for 
the  clinging  madness  of  passion  that  rendered  it  impossible 
for  him  to  speak  of  Lamia  Leegh  without  anguish. 

"Well  as  I  know  her  now,"  he  said  to  himself— "well  as 
I  ought  to  know  her,  after  she  led  me  into  an  act  of  baseness 
that  it  will  take  my  whole  life  to  expiate:  well  as  I  know, 
too,  that  if  I  were  free  from  all  bonds  to-day,  and  if  she 
were  free,  and  if  both  were  wealthy,  I  would  rather  kill  my- 
self and  take  my  chances  in  the  other  world  than  descend 
to  the  deep  degradation  of  a  marriage  with  her.  Yet,  oh ! 
the  clinging,  cleaving  madness,  like  a  robe  of  fire,  consumes 
me!" 

He  left  the  porch  and  strayed  out  into  the  coolness  of  the 
twilight  in  the  pine  woods.  There  he  walked  until  the  last 
light  faded  out  of  the  sky. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  illuminated  house,  where  the 
guests  were  dancing. 

Neither  Cleve  nor  Palma  participated  in  that  amuse- 
ment. He  joined  her  in  their  own  room,  where  he  found 
her  sewing  by  a  shaded  lamp. 

He  took  a  book  that  they  were  both  interested  in  and  sat 
down  and  read  aloud  to  her. 

In  this  man  Tier  many  of  their  evenings  were  spent. 

Mrs.  Pole  had  made  acquaintance  with  the  housekeeper 
and  waitresses  of  the  establishment  and  passed  many  of  her 


156  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

leisure  hours  in  their  company,  leaving  the  young  people 
alone  together. 
So  went  the  time. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    LADY-ELECT    AND    GENTLEMAN    GEFF 

JUNE  had  far  advanced.  The  midsummer  holidays  had 
commenced,  and  the  annual  exodus  from  city  to  country 
was  in  progress. 

The  Vansitart  family  were  at  Newport.  The  Vansitart 
mansion  was  deserted  by  all  except  the  governess,  the  cook 
and  the  butler. 

It  was  Miss  Leegh's  vacation  also,  and  there  were  to  be 
no  lessons  until  the  first  of  September.  It  was  at  her  own 
option  to  go  with  the  family  to  Newport,  or  to  remain  in 
the  town  house  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  her  liberal  salary 
would  continue,  whether  she  should  go  or  stay.  She  chose 
to  stay,  for  reasons  which  she  explained  to  Mrs.  Vansitart. 
They  were  these: 

The  midsummer  holidays  spent  in  the  city  would  afford 
her  an  excellent  opportunity  for  the  preparation  of  the 
trousseau  for  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Randolph  Hay,  which 
was  to  come  off  in  the  autumn.  For  during  the  midsummer 
milliners  and  dressmakers  would  be  comparatively  at  leis- 
ure to  give  prompt  and  careful  attention  to  her  commis- 
sions, so  that  she  would  not  have  to  wait;  goods  would  be 
cheaper,  so  that  her  money  would  go  further;  and,  more- 
over, she  would  be  free  from  callers,  as  all  the  Vansitart 
clique  were  out  of  town,  so  that  her  time  would  be  at  her 
own  disposal ;  and,  finally,  she  would  be  on  hand  to  receive 
Mr.  Randolph  Hay,  who  was  expected  to  return  about  the 
last  of  July,  and  who,  immediately  on  his  arrival  at  New 
York,  would  present  himself  at  the  Vansitart  house. 

Mrs.  Vansitart  had  always  been  very  kind  and  liberal  to 
Miss  Leegh,  but  since  the  young  lady's  engagement  to  the 
wealthy  English  squire  she  had  been  even  more  so. 

"You  must  let  me  be  as  an  elder  sister  to  you  on  this 
occasion,  my  dear,  and  help  to  provide  your  trousseau,"  she 
§aid>  as  she  put  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars  in  her  hand 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  157 

at  the  moment  of  bidding  her  good-by  to  go  on  board  the 
steamer  for  Newport. 

And  the  hurry  and  confusion  of  the  leave-taking  and  de* 
parture  served  to  cover  the  embarrassment  of  the  gover- 
ness, who  was  too  covetous  and  too  politic  to  decline  this 
bounty,  and  yet  too  proud  and  vain  to  accept  it  without  a 
sense  of  humiliation  that  excited  something  like  hatred  of 
the  giver. 

Besides  this,  Mrs.  Vansitart  had  been  so  lavish  in  her 
presents  to  the  beautiful  and  beloved  governess  of  her  chil- 
dren that  Lamia  had  but  little  need  to  spend  any  part  of 
her  liberal  salary  on  clothing  or  ornaments,  so  that  she 
saved  the  greater  part  of  her  income. 

All  her  funds,  including  her  savings  and  Mrs.  Vansitart's 
last  check,  Lamia  laid  out  to  what  she  considered  the  very 
best  advantage.  That  is,  she  forbore  to  buy  jewelry  or 
India  shawls,  because  to  get  the  best  of  these  would  have 
taken  more  capital,  ten  times  told,  than  she  possessed ;  but 
she  bought  a  beautiful  bridal  dress  and  veil,  and  three 
other  "magnificent"  costumes,  made  up  by  the  most  "cele- 
brated" artists  in  the  city. 

The  bride  would  bring  no  diamonds  or  camel's  hair 
wraps,  but  no  doubt  the  bridegroom,  after  marriage,  would 
be  proud  and  happy  to  lay  all  these  splendors  and  luxuries 
at  her  feet. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  thirty-first  of  July. 

The  dressmaker  had  just  sent  home  an  elegant  dress  of 
pale  blue  satin  and  damasse,  richly  trimmed  with  duchesse 
lace. 

Lamia  had  tried  it  on,  and  was  standing  before  a  large 
mirror  in  an  ecstasy  of  self-admiration,  when  a  servant 
rapped  and  brought  in  a  card. 

Lamia  took  it  and  read : 

"RANDOLPH  HAY/' 

Then  she  glanced  at  the  crest  above  the  name — it  was  a 
lion's  head.  Her  eyes  lingered  on  this  badge  of  rank  with 
pride. 

Then  she  turned  to  the  servant,  and  said : 

"  Say  to  Mr.  Hay  that  I  am  at  home  and  will  be  with  him 
in  a  few  moments." 


158  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

The  man  bowed  and  withdrew. 

She  looked  at  herself  again  as  reflected  ki  the  mirror 
with  a  rapture  of  self-worship. 

"I  am  perfect,"  she  thought  in  her  heart,  "simply  per- 
fect. I  have  the  stature  and  stateliness  of  Juno ;  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  Venus ;  the  spirit  and  expression  of  Psyche ! 
I  do  not  need  a  jewel,  not  one,  not  even  a  poetic  pearl !  But 
I  will  put  this  flower  in  my  hair." 

She  selected  a  rich  tea  rose  from  a  vase  on  the  table,  and 
twined  its  stem  in  her  red-gold  tresses  and  surveyed  herself 
l  gain. 

"I  wonder  what  he  will  think  of  me  ?  I  wonder  what  he 
will  find  to  say  to  me-?  But  I  must  not  keep  him  waiting !" 
she  said.  And  she  sailed  slowly  and  superbly  out  of  the 
room  and  down  the  stairs. 

She  entered  the  drawing  room. 

Gentleman  Geff  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  richly 
carved  chimney-piece,  and  his  face  to  the  door  by  which  she 
came  in. 

She  saw  the  slight  start  with  which  he  recognized  her, 
after  seeming  for  an  instant  to  doubt  her  identity. 

Then  he  advanced  to  meet  her.  She  gave  him  both  hands 
and  a  smile  that  should  have  raised  him  to  the  seventh 
heaven;  but  it  did  not,  for  Gentleman  Geff  had  just  come 
from  Paris,  where  he  had  been  on  intimate  terms  with  some 
of  the  most  celebrated  beauties  of  the  ballet  and  the  demi- 
monde. 

Yet  in  taking  her  hands  and  in  answering  her  smile,  he 
said: 

"You  are  looking  uncommonly  well,  by  Jove !  I  was  at 
her  majesty's  drawing  room  three  weeks  ago,  don't  yon 
know,  and  there  wasn't  a  woman  there  to  be  compared  with 
you ;  not  so  well  groomed,  either,  'pon  my  life  !" 

While  he  spoke  they  were  sauntering  toward  a  group  of 
chairs,  where  they  seated  themselves. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant  voyage,"  said  Lamia,  feeling 
disappointed  and  depressed,  she  scarcely  knew  why. 

"Ah — yes !  pretty  fair.  July  is  a  good  month  to  cross  in, 
don't  you  know.  'Pon  my  life,  Lamia,  you  are  handsomer 
than  ever !  There  isn't  a  professional  beauty  in  London  to 
equal  you !  What  a  sensation  you  would  make  in  a  London 
ballroom  1" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  159 

"You  flatter  me,"  said  Miss  Leegh,  in  a  low  voice,  scarce- 
ly knowing  what  else  to  say,  or  how  to  receive  these  very 
direct,  not  to  say  coarse  compliments. 

"  'Pon  my  life  I  don't.  Society  is  sure  to  agree  with  me ! 
I  quite  long  to  exhibit  you,  don't  you  know !  It  is  too  late 
to  take  you  to  London  this  season;  for  the  last  drawing 
room  for  the  year  has  been  held.  But  I  tell  you  what 
we  can  do.  After  we  have  been  married,  and  have  made 
the  regulation  wedding  tour,  we  can  go  to  Washington,  at 
the  meeting  of  Congress — spend  the  month  of  January, 
there ;  attend  all  the  presidential  and  ministerial  receptions, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing !  Have  you  ever  been  to  Wash- 
ington?" 

"No;  I* have  been  all  over  Canada,  and  all  over  Europe 
and  into  the  contingent  portions  of  Asia  and  Africa,  yet 
have  never  seen  the  capital  of  the  United  States." 

"Well,  we  will  see  it  next  winter.  And  then  about  the 
month  of  May  we  will  go  to  London.  Get  there  in  the 
height  of  the  season.  We  will  attend  her  majesty's  draw- 
ing room.  There  is  always  a  drawing  room  in  the  month 
of  May,  and  then  you' will  eclipse  them  all,  don't  you  know. 
Professional  beauties  will  be  nowhere !" 

Lamia  listened  to  his  talk  in  growing  anxiety.  He  did 
not  seem  like  himself.  She  could  make  nothing  of  him, 
until  he  arose  to  bid  her  good-night.  Then  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her,  with  such  effusion  that  she  caught 
his  breath  and  perceived  that  he  had  been  drinking. 

This  discovery,  instead  of  troubling  her,  actually  relieved 
her,  since  it  explained  his  conduct.  And  as  for  the  morality 
of  the  question  she  cared  nothing  for  his  morals,  nothing 
for  his  reputation,  nothing  for  liimself .  She  cared  only  for 
his  supposed  wealth,  rank  and  position. 

Meanwhile,  Gentleman  Geff  left  the  house  with  a  jaunty 
air,  and  walked  along  a  cross  street  leading  to  Broadway, 
where  he  intended  to  take  a  stage  for  his  hotel. 

But  just  as  he  turned  the  corner  he  came  up  face  to  face 
with  a  woman  at  the  sight  of  whom  he  reeled  back  as  if  he 
had  received  a  staggering  blow. 

"Good  Heaven,  Jenny  !    Is  this  you  ?" 

"Yes,  Kite,  it  is  I !"  she  answered,  grimly. 

"Where  in  the  deuce  did  you  come  from  ?" 


160  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"From  Liverpool,  in  an  emigrant  ship  that  landed  three 
days  ago." 

"And  what  in  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"Watching  you.  I  hunted  you  down.  I  traced  you  from 
London  to  Paris.  From  Paris  back  to  London.  Thence 
to  Liverpool.  I  could  not  get  face  to  face  with  you,  try  as  I 
might.  I  would  have  come  over  in  the  same  ship  with  you, 
only  they  did  not  take  steerage  passengers,  and  I  had  not 
money  enough  to  pay  for  a  cabin  passage,  so  I  came  in  the 
steerage  of  the  Naiad  Queen." 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"I  want  to  be  acknowledged  as  your  lawful  wife." 

"Come,  come,  girl !    All  that  is  the  sheerest  nonsense !" 

"Is  it  nonsense  when  I  have  my  marriage  lines  ?" 

"Not  worth  the  paper  they  art  written  on,  Jenny.  My 
name  is  not  Kightly  Montgomery ;  it  is  Jeremiah  Johnson." 

"And  twenty  more  aliases." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  my  dear  Jenny,  how  that  invalidates 
your  marriage  lines,  as  you  call  them  ?  You  are  married  to 
one  of  the  aliases." 

"Then  you  shall  do  me  justice,  or  I  will  make  it  warm 
for  you  here.  It  is  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the 
innocent  child  that  has  never  seen  the  light.  You  shall 
marry  me  under  your  own  proper  name,  and  then — you 
may  go  off  and  get  yourself  hanged,  as  I  suppose  you  are 
sure  to  do  sooner  or  later,  and  I  shall  not  care.  I  only  want 
the  ceremony  performed  so  that  no  one  may  be  able  to  call 
my  innocent  child  ill  names.  That's  all,  Kite.'' 

"My  dear  Jenny,  you  are  very  funny.  Don't  you  see 
how  absurd  it  is  for  you  to  threaten  me  ?  And  how  vain  to 
suppose  that  you  can  get  anything  by  such  a  co^^^se  ?  Why, 
look  here,  girl.  Just  now  you  said  I  had  twenty  aliases. 
Perhaps  I  have.  But  I  can  tell  you  this,  I  have  a  wife  for 
every  alias — as  many  wives  as  aliases." 

"Oh,  vou  devil !"  ' 

"Don't  use  bad  language.  Listen  to  sound  reason.  You 
howl  for  justice.  You  want  me  to  marry  you  over  again  by 
my  own  proper  name.  Bless  your  soul !  so  do  the  other 
nineteen !  I  can't  do  justice  to  all,  you  know." 

"The  hangman  will  do  justice  to  you,  you  villain !" 

"All  in  good  time,  Jenny.  But  as  I  was  saying,  I  can't 
do  justice  to  all.  I  can  only  do  justice  to  one,  and  that 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  161 

ought  to  be  the  one  I  first  married,  years  and  years  ago, 
you  know.  I  don't  know  where  she  is  now,  or  whether  she 
is  living;  but  even  if  she  should  be  dead,  there's  the  second 
wife,  and  the  third,  and  the  fourth,  and  the  fifth,  and  the 
sixth,  and  the  seventh — all  taking  precedence  of  you,  Jenny, 
who  are  the  seventeenth,  or  eighteenth,  or  nineteenth.  I 
really  can't  keep  count  of  them  all." 

"Oh,  you  black,  black,  black  devil!" 

"Come,  come,  woman,  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head. 
You  need  not  call  ill  names,  nor  make  malicious  threats. 
It  is  all  quite  useless.  You  can  do  nothing,  Capt.  Kightly 
Montgomery  is  not  known  in  New  York,  nor  ever  was 
heard  of  anywhere  else  but  in  the  small  market  town  of 
Hedge,  in  Hants,  where  his  head  was  temporarily  turned 
by  the  beauty  of  the  curate's  pretty  daughter,  a  silly  country 
girl.  If  you  were  to  try  to  'make  it  warm'  for  me  here,  you 
would  only  get  yourself  put  into  prison  for  conspiracy  or 
blackmailing.  The  laws  are  very  strict  in  this  country." 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  laws  of  this  country.  They 
may  be  as  hard  on  the  poor  as  the  laws  of  our  own  country. 
And  I  don't  care  that  for  them !"  she  cried,  snapping  her 
fingers.  "You  can't  frighten  me.  Nothing  can  happen  to 
me  so  evil  as  that  which  has  already  happened  through  you. 
I  cannot  be  more  degraded  than  I  am.  I  cannot  be  more 
unhappy  than  I  am.  I  cannot  be  more  desperate  than  I 
am." 

"If  you  are  so  desperate,  my  dear,  why,  there  is  the  river 
— the  cure-all  for  griefs  like  yours.  This  street  that  you 
are  on  leads  straight  to  it.  Turn ;  there  is  the  moon  sink- 
ing toward  the  western  horizon.  Walk  straight  toward  the 
setting  moon  until  you  come  to  the  pier ;  then  walk  straight 
along  the  pier  until  you  come  to  the  end  of  it.  By  that  time 
the  moon  will  be  dropping  behind  the  horizon.  You,  with 
dramatic  art,  can  drop  into  the  river.  Behold  all !" 

"Oh,  why  does  not  a  bolt  from  heaven  kill  you?  I  look 
at  you,  and  wonder  that  you  are  let  live.  But  you  shall 
not  drive  me  to  suicide.  Though  I  left  my  dear  father's 
house  to  marry  you — as  I  supposed — yet  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten all  his  lessons.  I  know  that  I  must  live  till  the  Lord 
shall  call  me  hence.  I  must  live  also  for  the  little  life  that 
depends  on  mine.  No,  Kightly  Montgomery !  You  shall 
not  by  your  mockeries  drive  me  to  suicide,  or  to  any  other 


162  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

sin.  I  will  not  go  to  the  river.  But  I  will  tell  you  where  I 
will  go.  I  will  tell  you,  because  I  will  do  nothing  under- 
handed. I  will  go  to  that  palatial  mansion  you  have  just 
left " 

Gentleman  Geff  started. 

"You  will  not  dare  to  do  that !"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  wonder  what  I  would  not  dare  to  do,  desperate  as  I 
am  ?  Anything,  except  wantonly  to  break  the  laws  of  God ! 
Why,  Kightly  Montgomery,  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  that 
man  or  devil  can  do  to  me." 

"But  you  will  not  go  to  that  house,  Jenny.  Why  should 
you?  The  people  living  there  are  nothing  to  you.  They 
are  nothing  even  to  me,"  he  declared,  moderating  his  tone, 
though  inwardly  seething  with  fear  and  wrath  and  wild 
conjecture  as  to  how  he  should  dispel  the  perils  that  were 
around  him. 

"Listen!"  said  the  girl.  "I  had  better  explain  fully. 
When  I  had  traced  you  to  Liverpool,  and  failed  to  get  an 
interview  with  you,  I  succeeded  in  discovering  that  you  were 
to  sail  in  the  Scorpio  on  Saturday.  Then  I  took  steerage 
passage  on  the  Naiad  Queen,  which  sailed  on  Monday  of  the 
Bame  week,  six  days  sooner  than  your  steamer.  I  arrived 
here  three  days  ago,  and  stayed  at  Castle  Garden,  and 
haunted  the  piers,  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  Scorpio." 

"Waylaying  me,  in  point  of  fact !" 

"Yes,  waylaying  you,  if  you  will  put  it  so.  When  your 
steamer  came  in  this  afternoon  I  was  on  the  watch.  But, 
though  a  stream  of  passengers  passed  me,  I  saw  you.  You 
were  dressed — as  you  are  now — as  for  an  evening  party. 
You  must  have  made  a  careful  toilet  in  your  stateroom." 

"I  did." 

"As  I  went  toward  you,  you  stepped  into  a  hansom,  which 
was  immediately  driven  off." 

"Ah  !  ha !  But,  really,  I  did  not  see  you,  nor  dream  that 
you  were  there." 

"I  believe  that.  But,  fortunately,  I  heard  the  direction 
given  to  the  driver — 'Mr.  Peter  Vansitart,  Number  — 
Fifth  Avenue/  I  charged  my  memory  with  that  address, 
I  do  assure  you." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  did,  my  amiable  friend  !" 

"I  did  not  know  what  route  to  take  to  follow  you,  but  I 
inquired  of  a  policeman  what  street  cars  I  should  take  to 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  163 

convey  me  to  Mr.  Peter  Vansitart's,  —  Fifth  Avenue.  He 
told  me  to  get  into  a  Fourth  Avenue  car,  and  ride  up  as  far 

as  Street,  and  then  get  out  and  go  across  to  Fifth 

Avenue,  where  I  should  easily  find  the  number  and  the- 
house.  I  did  so,  and  reached  the  house  in  about  an  hour 
from  starting,  for  the  car  stopped  many  times  on  the  route, 
and  once  was  blocked.  You  in  your  cab  must  either  have 
loitered  on  your  way  or  else  have  made  a  call." 

"I  did.    At  an  uptown  saloon  to  get  a  drink." 

"To  get  several  drinks,  I  suspect,  from  your  looks  and 
manner.  However,  just  before  I  reached  the  house  I  saw 
a  cab  standing  at  the  door,  saw  you  get  out  and  go  in ;  and 
saw  the  cab  drive  away.  I  walked  on  up  to  the  house,  in- 
tending to  wait  until  you  should  come  out." 

"You  had  run  me  to  earth  at  last,  it  seems. " 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  to  a  purpose !  I  heard  more  than  I 
had  expected  to  hear !  As  I  went  up  to  the  house  I  met  a 
newsboy  who  had  just  left  a  paper  at  the  area  door.  I 
thought  I  would  question  the  lad  about  the  people  you  were 
visiting.  I  asked  him  who  lived  there." 

"Humph !  You  would  make  a  good  detective,"  grimly 
observed  Gentleman  Geff.  She  took  no  notice  of  the  inter- 
ruption, but  continued : 

"He  told  me  that  the  Yansitarts  lived  there;  that  they 
were  awful  rich  people ;  that  the  ladies  were  all  awful  good, 
and  that  one  of  them  was  awful  pretty.  Ah !  how  strange 
it  is  that  the  lad's  words  should  return  to  me  bringing  a 
sense  of  humor,  even  in  my  misery  I"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"Poor  devil,  she  is  a  little  off!"  was  Gentleman  Geff's 
muttered  comment. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  girl,  "he  said  the  ladies  there  were 
awful  good,  and  that  they  always  gave  him  a  Christmas,  an 
Easter  and  a  Fourth  of  July,  and  thumping  ones  at  that ! 
And  that  the  young  lady  who  was  awful  pretty  was  going 
to  marry  an  English  gent,  who  was  an  awful  swell." 

"What  do  not  newsboys  know?"  whistled  Gentleman 
Geff. 

"I  asked  him,"  continued  the  girl,  "if  he  knew  the  per- 
son who  had  just  come  in.  Why,  he  said,  that  was  the  very 
swell  the  young  lady  was  going  to  marry,  and  that  there 
was  lots  about  the  wedding  in  the  newspapers  already." 


164  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Confound  the  newspapers !"  burst  out  Gentleman  Geff. 
"What  else  did  the  young  rascal  tell  you  ?" 

"He  would  not  have  told  me  anything  more  if  I  had  not 
bribed  him  with  a  shilling ;  for  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  ran  off 
and  sell  his  papers.  He  told  me  that  there  was  a  full  ac- 
count of  the  great  English  swell,  who  was  a-going  to  marry 
the  beautiful  young  lady !  How  he  had  not  always  been  a 
swell,  but  had  been  in  the  gold  mines  of  California,  until 
he  was  advertised  for  to  come  forward  and  take  possession 
of  a  great  estate  that  was  left  him  by  his  grandfather,  in 
England.  And  how  he  had  gone  to  England  to  settle  up  his 
affairs,and  was  coming  back  to  marry  the  beautiful  young 
lady,  whose  name  the  newsboy  had  forgotten.  And,  in  fact, 
he  had  come  back,  the  boy  said,  for  the  gent  that  had  just 
gone  in  the  house  was  himself,  and  no  other,  for  the  boy 
knew  him  well  by  sight.  This  was  all  I  cared  to  know  at 
the  time,  so  I  let  the  boy  go  off,  crying  his  papers,  and  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  avenue,  waiting  for  you  to  come 
out,"  concluded  the  girl. 

While  they  had  spoken  he  had  turned  into  a  quiet  cross 
street,  where  all  the  houses  were  closed  and  the  inmates  ap- 
parently retired  to  rest.  Only  the  street  lamps  at  the  cor- 
ners dimly  lighted  the  scene.  There  were  no  passing  car- 
riages, and  no  pedestrians.  When  he  had  turned  into  this 
street  she,  earnestly  speaking,  had  turned  with  him  me- 
chanically, scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing.  And 
so  they  sauntered  on,  in  the  dead  of  night,  through  that 
eiler-t  and  deserted  street  of  the  crowded  city,  in  a  solitude 
as  deep  as  in  the  desert. 

When  she  had  ceased  speaking  he  said : 

"Well!  what  of  it  all?" 

"This,"  she  said,  speaking  now  with  wonderful  calmness 
and  firmness ;  "you  shall  not  marry  this  young  lady." 

"Indeed !" 

"Xo,  you  shall  not !" 

"You"  cannot  prevent  it !  If  you  attempt  to  give  trouble 
1  will  have  you  arrested  as  an  impostor.' 

"I  will  not  break  any  law !  I  will  simply  go  to  the  Van- 
si  tart  house  and  ask  to  see  the  young  lady  I  will  go  early 
to-morrow,  before  she  can  go  out.  I  will  tell  her  all  my 
story." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  165 

"She  will  not  believe  you." 

"I  will  show  her  your  photograph." 

Gentleman  Geff  started. 

"I  will  ask  her  to  compare  that  with  your  living1  face." 

Gentleman  Geff  felt  in  his  pocket,  drew  something  out, 
and  stealthily  handled  it,  keeping  it  out  of  the  girl's  sight. 

"Then,  I  will  show  her  your  letters  to  me,  and  ask  her 
to  compare  their  handwriting  with  that  of  those  which  you 
have  doubtless  written  to  her." 

"You  will  not  do  this!" 

"As  Heaven  hears  me  I  will  do  it,  for  it  is  my  duty !  I 
will  do  it  as  sure  as  I  live !" 

"Then  you  will  not  live !"  fiercely  muttered  the  man,  as 
he  sprang  upon  the  woman  like  a  wild  beast,  throttled  her 
for  a  moment,  while  he  hissed  in  her  ear : 

"You  have  hunted  me  to  the  earth!  But  tiger  hunting 
has  its  deadly  perils  !" 

With  these  words  he  plunged  his  knife  into  her  bosom, 
up  to  the  h^lt,  and  threw  hjsr  from  him.  She  fell  to  the 
ground. 


CHAPTER  XVIII^ 

AFTER    THE    CRIME 

"!T  is  fate,"  said  Geoffrey  Delamere,  as  he  held  the  knife 
point  downward,  dripping  on  the  pa.vement,  and  glanced 
fearfully  up  and  down  the  street  to  see  if  any  one  were  near. 
But  the  street  was  dark,  silent  and  solitary  as  a  desert  in 
the  night. 

Only  for  a  few  seconds  he  stood  there,  then  he  stooped 
and  dropped  the  knife  through  a  grating  on  the  pavement, 
heard  it  fall  and  jingle  upon  some  metallic  rubbish  in  the 
cellar  beneath,  and  then  arose,  turned,  glanced  up  and  down 
the  deserted  street  and  hurried  rapidly  away. 

He  turned  the  first  corner  into  Fifth  Avenue  and  walked 
down  as  far  as  Forty-second  Street.  Then  he  turned  into 
that  street,  and  walked  up  to  the  Grand  Central  Railway 
Depot,  entered  the  building  and  sat  down  as  if  waiting  for 
a  train. 

So  rapid  had  been'his  motions  that  not  ten  minutes  had 


166  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

elapsed  between  the  moment  that  he  struck  the  knife  into 
the  bosom  of  his  victim  and  this  moment  that  he  stepped 
up  to  the  watchman  on  duty  and  inquired : 

"When  is  the  Albany  express  due?" 

The  man  glanced  at  the  time-table,  then  at  the  clock,  and 
answered : 

"Due  at  half-past  three.  If  she's  up  to  time  she  will  be 
here  in  twenty-five  minutes." 

Gentleman  Geff  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches  near  the 
loitering  watchman.  The  waiting  room  was  almost  de- 
serted. The  gas  was  low,  the  water  coolers  dry,  the  ticket 
office  closed. 

Perhaps  the  watchman  was  usually  talkative  by  nature, 
or  perhaps  he  felt  the  loneliness  of  the  hour.  At  all  events, 
lie  ventured  to  address  the  stranger. 

"Expect  friends  by  her,  sir  ?"  he  inquired. 

"By  whom?"  demanded  the  rather  distracted  Delamere. 
."Waiting  to  meet  anybody  by  this  train,  sir  ?" 

Now  Gentleman  Geff  did  not  expect  to  meet  any  one  by 
this  train.  He  was.  merely  preparing  an  alibi  in  case  of 
unforeseen  accidents  connected  with  that  little  transaction 
in  that  uptown  cross  street,  and  also  making  his  intended 
application  for  rooms  in  a  fashionable  hotel  seem  in  order 
at  that  unusual  hour.  For  it  will  be  remembered  that  he 
had  not  as  yet  engaged  any,  or  even  taken  his  baggage  from 
the  Custom  House,  but  had  dressed  himself  for  the  evening 
in  his  stateroom  on  the  steamer,  and  on  landing  had  taken 
a  cab  and  driven  first  to  Delmonico's,  where  he  had  dined, 
and  thence  to  the  Vansitart  mansion,  where  he  had  spent 
a  very  long  evening. 

Coming  away  from  Vansitart's,  he  had  been  followed  and 
confronted  by  the  poor  girl  who  had  hunted  him  down, 
brought  him  to  bay,  and  been  stabbed  for  her  tiger 
hunting. 

Now  his  purpose  was  to  try  to  make  it  appear  that  he  had 
come  straight  from  the  Vansitart  house  to  the  Grand  Cen- 
tral Eailway  Depot,  to  wait  for  friends,  and  go  with  them 
to  the  favorite  hotel.  He  did  not  expect  to  meet  even  an 
acquaintance,  but  if,  as  he  supposed,  his  friends  should  not 
appear,  he  could  mingle  with  the  crowd  that  came  out  of 
the  cars,  get  into  a  hotel  stage  with  a  party,  and  get  rooms 
as  a  traveler  just  arrived. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  167 

He  did  not  resent  the  questions  of  the  watchman  as  an 
impertinence.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  glad  they  had  been 
put.  They  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  so  emphasizing  his 
assumed  position  as  to  impress  it  on  the  mind  of  one  wit- 
ness at  least  and  make  it  memorable,  in  case  of  accidents 
connected  with  the  transaction  uptown. 

So  when  the  watchman  inquired :  "Waiting  to  meet  any 
one  by  this  train,  sir  ?" — he  answered : 

"Yes;  I  have  just  returned  from  Europe  by  the  Scorpio, 
have  been  spending  a  long  evening  at  the  Vansitart  man- 
sion, left  there  so  late  that  I  thought  I  would  just  come  up 
here  and  meet  the  friends  whose  expected  arrival  in  the  city 
I  saw  announced  in  the  evening  papers.  Is  this  the  train 
coming  in?"  he  inquired,  as  a  rumbling  rush  shook  the 
earth. 

"No,  sir;  that  is  the  freight  train.  She'll  be  here  in  ten 
minutes  now,  though/' 

"Ah !  Have  a  cigar  ?"  said  Gentleman  Geff,  taking  out 
his  pocket  case. 

"Thanky  for  the  cigar,  sir,  but  they  don't  allow  smoking 
here,  sir,"politely  replied  the  watchman,  as  he  received  the 
"weed"  from  the  hands  of  the  donor. 

"Not  even  at  this  hour,  when  the  place  is  nearly  de- 
serted ?" 

"No,  sir;  but  there's  a  smoking  room;  that's  the  door/' 

Gentleman  Geff  arose,  crossed  the  floor  and  passed 
through  the  indicated  portal  into  an  apartment,  where  he 
lit  his  cigar,  and  walked  and  smoked  until  the  rush  and 
whirr  of  the  coming-in  train  warned  him  to  return  to  the 
waiting  room. 

He  threw  away  his  cigar,  and  went  to  meet  the  incoming 
tide  of  travelers. 

Almost  the  first  face  he  saw  was  that  of  the  first  friend 
he  had  met  in  New  York,  Mr.  William  Walter  Walling, 
junior  partner  in  the  great  firm  of  Walling  &  Walling,  at- 
torneys-at-law. 

"Why !    How  do  you  do,  Hay  ?" 

"How  do  you  do,  Walling?" 

These  were  simultaneous  greetings  as  the  men  met  and 
shook  hands. 

"Off  to  Saratoga,  or  Niagara,  by  the  early  train,  I  pre- 
sume. But  when  did  you  arrive  from  London  ?" 


168  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Only  this  evening,  by  the  Scorpio"  replied  Gentleman 
Geff. 

"And  off  to  Canada,  or  some  other  cool  latitude,  by  the 
early  train/' 

Not  at  all.  I  Bhall  not  leave  New  York  at  present,  warm 
as  the  city  is." 

"Attractions  here  too  great,  eh  ?  Miss  Leegh  remains  in 
town  at  the  Vansitart  house,  I  believe/' 

"Yes.  I  went  to  her  almost  directly  from  the  steamship, 
and  spent  a  long  evening  with  her.'7 

"You  could  have  done  no  less,  since  the  young  lady  re- 
mained in  town  to  receive  you  on  your  return  from  abroad." 

"Our  engagement  was  announced  weeks  ago,  before  I 
sailed  for  England,"'  Mr.  Hay  explained. 

"Oh,  I  know,  of  course.  And  when  I  met  you  here  and 
thought  you  were  going  off  by  the  early  train,  I  also 
thought  that  Miss  Leegh  had,  after  all,  been  driven  out  of 
the  city  by  the  heat,  and  had  gone  to  her  friends,  wherever 
they  may  now  be,  and  ihat  you  were  off  to  join  her." 

"  Oh,  no.  She  is  here,  as  I  explained,  and  I  have  passed 
a  long  evening  with  her,  went  to  her  almost  directly  from 
the  steamer,  stopping  only  at  Delmonico's  for  a  little  soli- 
tary dinner,"  said  Gentleman  Geff,  repeating  his  first  state- 
ment with  the  pertinacity  of  one  who  wishes  to  impress  it 
on  the  memory  of  his  hearer. 

"Then  how  came  you  here  ?"  inquired  Will  Walling. 

"Came  to  meet  you." 

"To  meet  me?" 

"Yes." 

"But — how  did  you  know  I  was  returning  to  town  by  this 
train  ?"  inquired  the  lawyer,  staring. 

"Saw  your  expected  arrival  announced  in  one  of  the  eve- 
ning papers ;  I  forget  which.  Telegraphic  news,  you  know," 
replied  Gentleman  Geff,  lying  without  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion. 

"News  must  be  very  scarce,  since  such  a  very  insignifi- 
cant item  is  telegraphed,"  remarked  the  lawyer. 

"I  don't  see  that,  Walling.  You  are  engaged  for  the  de- 
fendant on  the  great  case  of  Vanderblitzen  versus  Vander- 
blitzen,  and  your  movements  are  watched  with  interest  by 
counsel  and  people  on  both  sides." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  169 

"There  is  something  in  that.  But  what  brings  you  here 
to  meet  me  at  this  unearthly  hour,  if  one  may  ask  so  plain, 
a  question  without  rudeness  ?" 

"I  came  to  catch  you  on  the  wing.  I,  too,  am  a  client  of 
yours,  though  an  almost  forgotten  one  in  the  rush  and  tu- 
mult of  your  more  important  business." 

"Not  BO,  Hay !  not  so !  But,  really,  I  thought  your  own 
affairs  were  so  well  settled  that  you  would  require  no  fur- 
ther legal  assistance,  at  least  from  us,  on  this  side  of  the 
pond." 

"My  affairs  are  settled  most  satisfactorily.  It  is  business 
connected  with  my  marriage  upon  which  I  wished  to  see 
you,  and  to  secure  an  hour's  interview." 

"Oh,  these  lovers !  There  are  three  classes  of  persons 
who  are  the  torment  and  the  revenue  of  the  modern  lawyer's 
life — betrothed  lovers,  wealthy  widows  and  would-be  di- 
vorcers  !  Where  are  you  stopping  ?" 

"Nowhere  at  present.  Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  went 
directly  from  the  steamer  to  Delmonico's,  from  there  to 
Vansitart's,  and  from  there  here  ?"  replied  Gentleman  Geff, 
feeling  pleased  with  the  opportunity  for  reiterating  his 
statement. 

"Then  come  right  home  with  me.  A  strong  cup  of  coffee 
each  will  stand  us  both  in  good  stead  of  a  night's  rest,  and 
we  can  get  through  this  business  of  yours  in  time  for  me  to 
look  over  my  brief  before  going  into  court  to-day." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Walling;  I  will  go  with  you. 
The  case  of  Vanderblitzen  versus  Vanderblitzen  comes  on 
to-day,  then?" 

"Yes ;  adjourned  from  last  Wednesday ;  may  be  ad- 
journed again,  for  aught  I  know.  I  took  advantage  of  the 
interim  to  run  up  to  Saratoga  and  stay  over  Sunday  and 
get  a  little  fresh  air." 

As  the  two  men  talked,  they  had  walked  slowly  through 
the  building,  and  come  out  on  the  Forty-second  Street 
front. 

The  old  watchman  who  had  talked  with  Gentleman  Geff 
in  the  waiting  room  saw  them  pass  out  together,  and  said 
to  himself: 

"Ay,  ay ;  he's  met  the  friend  he  came  so  early  to  meet." 

The  private  residence  of  the  Wallings  was  on  Thirty- 
eighth  Street,  within  easy  walking  distance  of  Grand  Cen- 


170  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

tral  Kailway  Depot.  It  was  now  daylight,  and  the  eastern 
horizon  was  aflame  with  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  Milk 
carts,  bread  carts  and  other  early  supply  carts,  were  on  their 
way.  Early  workmen  were  passing  to  their  places  of  labor. 
Night  workmen  were  going  home  to  their  families.  These 
were  nearly  all  the  passengers  at  this  early  morning  hour, 
except  the  ever-passing  street  cars,  stages  and  trucks. 

The  two  men  went  along  Forty-second  Street  to  Fifth 
Avenue,  turned  down  and  walked  on  to  Thirty-eighth 
Street,  and  then  westward  along  that  street  until  they 
reached  a  fine  brownstone  house,  in  a  block  of  the  same 
style  of  houses,  and  bearing  on  its  polished  silver  door  plate 
the  name : 

Walling. 

"Come  in.  There's  not  a  soul  in  the  house,  except  the 
cook  and  the  waiter.  The  family  are  all  at  Saratoga,  where 
I  should  be,  too,  but  for  this  dunder  und  blitzcn  case  !"  said 
Will  Walling,  as  he  took  out  a  latchkey  and  let  himself  in, 
followed  by  Gentleman  Geff. 

"Come  upstairs,"  he  continued.  "I  will  take  you  to  a 
bedroom,  where  you  can  refresh  yourself.  Then  I  will  ring 
and  order  strong  coffee,  to  be  followed  by  breakfast.  And 
while  it  is  getting  ready  I  will  take  a  bath  and  change  my 
clothes.  You  may  have  a  dip,  too,  if  you  like.  There's  a 
tub  on  every  floor." 

So  saying,  he  opened  the  door  of  a  spacious  front  room 
on  the  second  floor  and  ushered  his  guest  into  it. 

Then  he  went  and  opened  the  front  windows,  to  admit 
the  morning  air  and  sunshine. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  guest,  and  got  the  first  good  look 
at  him  he  had  had  since  they  had  met  in  the  morning  twi- 
light at  the  Grand  Central  Depot. 

"Why,  Hay,  old  boy,  how  pale  and  haggard  you  look! 
Are  you  feeling  badly?  Shall  I  get  you  anything?"  he  in- 
quired, anxiously. 

"No,  no,  to  both  questions.  It  is  only  the  effect  of  late 
hours,"  replied  the  other;  but  he  sank  into  the  easy-chair 
that  the  lawyer  had  drawn  forward  for  him. 

"The  effect  of  no  hours  at  all,  I  think.  This  sitting  up 
all  night  don't  agree  with  you.  You  can't  stand  it  as  well 
as  I  do,  I  think.  Don't  try  it  again,  old  fellow,  unless 
under  absolute  necessity,  for  you  can't  do  it  with  impunity; 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  171 

that  is  plain.  You  are  sure  you  won't  let  me  get  you  any- 
thing?" 

"Thank  you,  nothing  until  the  coffee  is  ready." 

"I  will  go  out  and  order  it  immediately.  Meantime,  you 
try  a  warm  bath.  That  and  a  cup  of  strong  Mocha  will  set 
you  up  again/'  said  Walling,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the 
room. 

Then,  with  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door,  he  added : 

"If  you  should  want  anything,  ring,  and  Aloysius  will 
answer  the  bell  and  attend  to  you.  Queer  name  for  a  hall 
boy — Aloysius — is  it  not  ?  But  we  make  it  practicable  by 
calling  him  Loy." 

With  these  words  he  laughed  and  left  the  room,  closing 
the  door  behind  him. 

Gentleman  Geff  arose,  went  across  the  room,  and  turned 
the  key.  Then  he  tottered  back  and  sank  into  his  seat,  and 
dropped  his  face  into  his  hands. 

The  question  that  had  haunted  him  all  night  and  morn- 
ing since  the  doing  of  that  dreadful  deed  pressed  heavily 
on  him  now  in  his  stillness  and  solitude. 

"Have  they  found  it  yet?  Is  every  one  talking  of  the 
murder  ?  How  soon  will  it  be  heard  of  in  this  household  ? 
Are  the  police  seeking  for  the  murderer  ?  Can  they  by  any 
means  find  a  clew? 

"No;  it  is  next  to  impossible.  There  was  not  a  waking 
creature  on  the  street.  And  it  was  done  so  deftly  and  si- 
lently. She  expired  without  a  groan.  The  stroke  went 
home — home  to  her  heart ! 

"Poor  little  devil !  I  am  sorry  for  her ;  but  she  died  a 
painless  death,  and,  after  all,  that  may  have  been  better  for 
her  than  a  sorrowful  life.  Yet  I  wish  she  had  not  driven 
me  to  it. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  do  it ;  but  I  was  overwhelmed  by  a 
whirlwind  of  wrath  and  terror,  and  lost  my  reason.  It  was 
fate !"  he  said,  sighing  uneasily,  shifting  his  position,  and 
lifting  his  head  from  his  hands. 

"But  what  is  this  ?    Great  Heaven !" 

The  heat  of  his  forehead  had  softened  some  substance 
clinging  to  the  finger  of  his  right-hand  glove.  It  was  coag- 
ulated blood. 

He  threw  out  his  eyes  in  speechless  horror,  but  they  met 


172  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

the  reflection  of  his  ghastly  face  in  the  mirror  on  the  dress- 
ing case  before  him. 

Yes,  there  it  was !  The  print  of  blood  left  by  the  index 
finger  of  the  right  gloved  hand  on  the  murderer's  brow ! 

"The  mark  of  Cain !  The  mark  of  Cain !"  he  cried.  And, 
tiger  as  he  was,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  going  mad. 

He  tore  off  the  tight-fitting  gloves,  splitting  them  in 
many  places  as  he  wrenched  and  pulled  at  them. 

When  they  were  off  he  examined  both.  The  left-hand 
glove  had  not  a  speck  upon  it,  and  had  come  off  more  easily 
than  the  right,  and  so  had  not  been  much  torn.  He  threw 
that  on  the  dressing  case. 

Then  he  looked  around  in  an  agony  of  anxiety  to  see 
where  he  could  safely  hide,  or  how  he  could  entirely  destroy, 
the  right-hand  glove — the  bloody  witness  of  crime.  His 
glance  fell  on  the  register  in  the  chimney. 

And  he  tore  up  the  glove  with  teeth  and  hands  into  sep- 
arate fingers  and  strips  of  kid,  and  pushed  them  through 
the  open  bars  of  the  register  into  the  inferno  below. 

Then  he  hurried  into  the  bathroom  adjoining  his 
chamber,  took  off  his  coat,  and  washed  the  blood  from  his 
forehead — washed  it  over  and  over  again  many  times  before 
he  ventured  to  use  a  towel.  Finally  he  dried  his  face  and 
brushed  his  hair,  and  took  up  his  coat  and  examined  it  with 
microscopic  care.  There  was  not  a  speck  upon  it.  :His 
trousers  were  submitted  to  the  same  ordeal,  and  were  found 
without  spot  or  blemish.  Next  his  patent  boots  were  scru- 
tinized. Yes,  there  on  the  shining  toe  of  the  right  boot  was 
a  little  splash,  like  a  flattened  drop  of  dark  red  sealing  wax. 

He  recognized  and  shuddered  at  it.  He  took  some  paper 
from  a  wall  basket,  wet  it,  and  wiped  off  the  stain.  This 
process  he  repeated  many  times.  Then  he  twisted  up  the 
wet  paper  in  small  morsels,  and  put  them  through  the  bars 
of  the  register,  and  sent  them  down  after  the  glove. 

Then  he  dressed  himself  carefully,  and  sank  again  into 
the  armchair.  He  was  still  trembling  with  strong  emotion 
— emotion  that  was  every  moment  getting  more  and  more 
beyond  his  control. 

Suddenly  he  started  up  and  rang  the  bell. 

In  a  few  moments  some  one  came  in  answer  to  the  sum- 
mons, turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  and,  finding  it  fast, 
knocked. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  173 

He  got  up  and  opened  it. 

A  white  boy  of  about  fifteen  years  old,  dressed  as  a  page, 
opened  it. 

"  Bring  me  a  glass  of  brandy.  I  am  not  well,"  said  Gen- 
tleman Geff. 

The  boy  ducked  his  head  and  disappeared. 

Gentleman  Geff  left  the  door  open,  and  went  and  sank 
into  his  chair. 

In  a  short  time  the  boy  returned  to  the  room,  bringing  a 
pretty  little  service — a  silver  tray,  on  which  stood  a  small 
cut-glass  decanter  of  pure  French  brandy,  a  cut-glass  jug  of 
water,  clear  as  crystal;  a  cut-glass  plate  of  pounded  ice, 
over  which  lay  a  silver  teaspoon,  and  a  fine,  thin  glass 
goblet. 

He  set  the  tray  on  a  little  stand,  and  lifted  both  and 
stood  them  beside  the  gentleman  in  the  easy-chair. 

"Now,  sir,  if  you  would  like  sugar  and  a  lemon,  or  some 
crackers,  or  anything  else,  I  can  bring  them  immediately; 
but  as  you  only  said  brandy " 

"I  want  nothing  else,  thank  you,"  replied  Gentleman 
Geff.  "You  can  go." 

The  boy  ducked  again  and  disappeared. 

The  man  of  many  aliases  put  a  spoonful  or  two  of  ice  in 
the  goblet,  filled  it  to  the  brim  with  brandy,  stirred  up  the 
contents,  and  drank  them  down  at  a  draught. 

"It  is  truly  eau-de-vie"  he  said,  with  a  profound  sigh  of 
relief  and  satisfaction;  and  he  sat  back  and  enjoyed  the 
effect  of  the  stimulant. 

"It  was  fate,"  he  said.  "In  both  instances,  fate — the 
sacrifice  in  the  wilderness  of  California,  and  the  sacrifice  in 
the  street  of  the  great,  populous  city — each  a  sacrifice,  each 
a  necessity — neither  a  murder ! 

"  Yes,  it  was  destiny !  If  I  had  been  born  a  millionaire 
— if  I  were  now  a  millionaire — no  doubt  I  should  never 
have  taken  human  life,  or  wronged  a  human  being,  for  it 
was  never  my  will  wantonly  to  do  either. 

"  On  the  contrary,  with  millions  at  my  disposal,  I  should 
have  been  a  benefactor  to  my  race.  I  should  have  endowed 
churches,  hospitals  and  orphan  asylums,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  know  I  should.  It  was  in  me  to  do  it.  But 
here  am  I " 


174  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  stopped,  put  some  more  pounded  ice  in  the  goblet, 
filled  it  up  with  brandy,  and  emptied  it  at  a  draught. 

"Here  am  I,"  he  resumed,  setting  down  the  glass,  "the 
victim  of  fate !  Instead  of  being  born  the  millionaire  that 
would  have  evolved  the  philanthropist,  I  was  born  a  poor 
devil  of  a  gentleman,  that  has  developed  into  nothing  but  a 
miserable  victim  of  circumstances !" 

He  got  up  and  walked  the  floor. 

Presently  the  boy  in  buttons,  Aloyisius,  came  again,  and 
announced : 

"If  you  please,  sir,  breakfast  is  on  the  table." 

Gentleman  Geff  arose,  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass, 
thought  he  was  all  right,  and  followed  the  boy,  who  led  him 
downstairs  and  into  the  breakfast  room,  where  the  lawyer 
sat  with  the  morning  Trumpeter  in  his  hand. 

"Anything  new?"  inquired  Gentleman  Geff,  in  as  steady 
a  tone  as  he  could  command. 

t"No;  nothing  special.  Reports  of  a  change  of  ministry 
in  England,  by  way  of  foreign  intelligence." 

"And  domestic  news?" 

"Oh,  nothing  but  racing  at  Saratoga,  trotting  on  Long 
Island,  and  yachting  everywhere.  Wall  Street  financial 
operations,  and  so  forth." 

"No — casualties?"  inquired  Gentleman  Geff,  in  pure 
fatuity. 

"Look  here,  Hay!  Are  you  one  of  these  Englishmen  of 
whom  it  is  said  that  he  always  wants  his  morning  paper 
laid  beside  his  plate,  on  the  breakfast  table  because  he  likes 
to  enjoy  his  murders  with  his  muffins?"  demanded  the 
lawyer,  laying  down  the  paper  and  drawing  up  to  the  table. 
"Because  if  you  are,  you  will  be  disappointed.  I  have  not 
found  the  ghost  of  a  murder  in  the  morning  papers.  Come, 
draw  up." 

Gentleman  Geff  affected  to  laugh,  drew  his  chair  to  the 
table,  and  sat  down. 

He  drank  the  coffee  set  before  him  by  Aloyisius,  but 
partook  very  slightly  of  the  buttered  toast,  rice  waffles, 
fresh  mackerel  and  tenderloin  beef  stead  set  before  him. 

Walling  ate  heartily,  and,  like  too  many  very  busy  pro- 
fessional men,  much  too  rapidly. 

As  they  arose  from  the  table,  the  lawyer  said : 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  175 

"Now  I  am  at  your  service  for  an  hour,"  and  led  his 
client  into  his  study  at  the  side  of  the  house. 

Gentleman  Geff  had  really  no  business  to  transact,  nor 
did  he  intend  to  make  any  settlements  on  his  bride-elect ; 
he  only  wanted  an  excuse  for  his  untimely  appearance  at 
the  Grand  Central.  But  he  could  give  the  lawyer  instruc- 
tions for  drawing  up  the  deeds,  and  could  make  the  amount 
as  handsome  as  possible,  as  he  never  meant  to  sign  the 
papers.  He  need  not  do  so ;  he  could  "change  his  mind." 

The  lawyer  wrote  rapidly  while  his  client  dictated. 

"  Now  these  shall  be  engrossed  and  ready  for  signature  in 
a  day  or  two,"  said  Mr.  Walling,  as  he  arose  from  his 
writing  table. 

"There  is  no  particular  hurry  about  that.  I  only 
wished  you  to  take  my  instructions  at  once  because  I  may 
be  going  out  of  town  immediately,  and  may  not  have  an- 
other opportunity." 

"The  weather  getting  too  warm  for  you?" 

"Bather.  I  shall  try  to  persuade  Miss  Leegh  to  join  her 
friends  at  Newport;  and  if  she  consents  to  do  so  I  shall 
escort  her  there,  and  take  rooms  in  the  same  hotel  with 
her  party." 

"I  see.  Well,  Hay,  I  have  to  go  downtown.  Make  your- 
self quite  at  home.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  find  you  here 
when  I  return,"  said  the  lawyer,  passing  out  into  the  hall, 
and  taking  his  hat  from  the  rack. 

"You  are  very  kind;  but  I  also  must  go  down  into  the 
city  to  look  after  my  effects,  which  are  still  in  the  Custom 
House." 

"Come  along,  then!  And  I  hope  you  will  return  and 
dine  with  me.  Why  not  send  your  baggage  here,  and  be 
my  guest  until  you  go  to  Newport?"  cordially  inquired  the 
lawyer. 

"Thanks,  very  much.  Should  be  delighted.  Will  think 
of  it,"  replied  the  client. 

They  left  the  house  and  walked  on  to  Fourth  Avenue, 
where  they  took  a  down  car  to  City  Hall.  The  car  was  full, 
yet  not  crowded ;  the  two  men  found  seats. 

The  lawyer  drew  two  morning  papers  from  his  pocket, 
handed  one  to  his  companion  and  opened  the  other  himself. 

Gentleman  Geff  feared  to  look  at  any  part  of  his  but  the 
first  few  columns  that  contained  the  cable  news. 


176  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  was  pretending  to  read  that,  yet  listening  eagerly  to 
the  conversation  of  the  passengers.  In  the  intensity  of  his 
inward  anxiety,  and  in  his  absorption  in  that  one  idea,  he 
fell  into  the  morbid  mistake  that  all  the  city  was  thinking 
and  talking  of  the  dark  deed  that  lay  so  heavily  on  his  own 
conscience.  He  forgot  that  in  the  great  and  crowded  city 
the  rinding  of  a  poor,  unknown  girl's  dead  body  would  be 
but  a  small  item  in  the  news  of  the  day. 

No  one  spoke  of  such  an  event;  in  fact,  there  was  but 
very  little  talk  in  the  car,  and  it  was  of  racing,  trotting 
matches,  mining  shares,  anything  else — but — that. 

"And  yet  the  body  must  have  been  found  very  soon 

Gentleman  Geff  shuddered,  and  left  the  sentence  in  his 
thoughts  unfinished. 

Low  down  on  Fourth  Avenue  Mr.  Walling  got  off  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  leading  to  his  office. 

"See  you  at  dinner,"  he  said  to  Gentleman  Geff,  on  leav- 
ing. 

The  man  of  many  aliases  rode  on  further  and  still 
further,  passed  the  gloomy  prison  of  the  Tombs,  and  sick- 
ened at  the  sight  of  its  heavy  walls  and  closely  grated  win- 
dows, and  at  the  thought  of  that  inclosed  yard  within — the 
place  of  executions. 

"What  if — what  if "  He  shuddered  away  from  the 

thought. 

Oh,  for  the  peace  of  those  poverty-stricken  days  before  he 
was  tempted  by  greed  of  gold  to  crime!  Oh,  for  the  old 
peace ! 

A  little  further  on  he  left  the  car,  and  entered  a  drinking 
saloon,  not  only  for  the  glass  of  brandy  that  seemed  an 
hourly  necessity  now,  but  to  hear  if 

In  such  places  the  thing  would  be  more  likely  to  be 
talked  of  than  anywhere  else,  except  in  the  police  courts 
and  quarters. 

There  were  several  loungers  present,  drinking  and  talk- 
ing with  animation,  but  their  subject  was  a  match  that  was 
to  come  off  the  next  day  between  two  noted  boxers. 

He  called  for  his  glass  of  cognac,  tossed  it  off,  laid 
down  the  price,  and  left  the  place. 

He  wandered  around  among  the  narrow,  crowded  streets 
of  the  lower  section  of  the  city,  listening  everywhere,  but 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  177 

never  once  did  he  hear — what  he  feared.  Men's  talk  was 
of  everything  else  but — that. 

Later,  he  went  to  the  Custom  House,  where  he  found  his 
servant  waiting  for  him. 

"Ah!  you  are  here,  Clark!  Did  you  find  comfortable 
quarters  last  night?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir,  in  a  tavern,  'ard  by  'ere;  and  was  on  'and  'ere 
as  soon  as  the-'ouse  was  hopen." 

"Any  news  down  this  way,  Clark?" 

"No,  sir,  none  as  would  interest  a  gentleman  like  you.  I 
'ear  as  there  is  a  dog  fight  to  come  off  to-morrow  be- 
tween  " 

"Yes,  I  heard  of  that;  and,  as  you  say,  it  don't  interest 
me." 

Gentleman  Geff  got  his  baggage,  and  ordered  it  to  be 
taken  to  an  uptown  hotel,  where  he  directed  his  servant 
to  meet  him. 

Then  he  called  a  cab  and  drove  to  the  same  destination. 

On  reaching  the  hotel  he  went  to  the  office,  engaged  a 
room,  and  registered  himself  as : 

Randolph  Hay,  Haymore,  Yorkshire,  England. 

Then  he  bought  a  copy  of  each  of  the  day's  papers,  and 
went  up  to  his  room,  preceded  by  the  porter  with  the  key. 

As  soon  as  he  was  admitted,  he  dismissed  his  attendant, 
locked  the  door  and  sat  down  to  search  the  papers,  as  he 
had  not  dared  to  do  all  day. 

One  after  another  he  unfolded,  and  diligently  searched 
without  finding  the  fearful  lines. 

At  length,  however,  in  an  obscure  corner  of  an  inside 
page  of  one  paper,  he  found  these  head  lines,  and  trembled : 

<fA  Mystery — The  Dead  Body  of  an  Unknown  Girl  Found 
on  Quarry  Street. 

"As  Patrolman  Davis,  of  the Precinct,  was  passing 

on  his  beat  down  Quarry  Street,  at  three  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing, he  came  upon  the  body  of  a  young  girl,  lying  in  front 
of  the  disreputable  house  No.  31. 

"She  lay  as  if  she  had  rolled  over  partly  on  her  left  side. 
Her  right  arm  was  thrown  out  upon  the  grating  of  the 
cellar  door,  palm  downward  and  fingers  slightly  curved. 
Turning  the  bull's-eye  of  his  dark  lantern  to  bear  upon  this, 


178  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

lie  saw  that  the  fingers  of  the  hand  and  the  bars  of  the 
grating  were  slightly  stained  with  blood. 

"On  further  examination,  he  saw  that  the  keen  bright 
rays  of  the  lantern  struck  something  that  glittered  on  the 
deep  cellar  floor  under  the  grating,  and  in  a  line  with  the 
hand  of  the  girl. 

"Looking  closer,  he  saw  that  this  'something3  was  a  large 
clasp  knife,  with  the  blade  open — apparently  the  very 
weapon  with  which  the  unhappy  girl  had  slain  herself,  and 
which,  as  she  rolled  over  in  her  death  agony,  had  fallen 
from  her  hands,  or  which  she  had  purposely  dropped 
through  the  grating,  into  the  cellar  beneath. 

"The  girl  is  supposed  to  have  been  an  inmate  or  a  casual 
visitor  of  the  house  at  whose  door  she  was  found.  But  the 
people  there  deny  all  knowledge  of  her.  Nothing  was 
found  on  her  person  by  which,  she  could  be  identified.  The 
knife  picked  up  from  the  cellar  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
police. 

"The  coroner  has  been  notified.  The  police  believe  this 
to  be  a  case  of  unquestionable  suicide." 

Gentleman  Geff  laid  down  the  paper  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
and  sat  silent  and  motionless  for  some  little  time;  then  he 
muttered  to  himself : 

"Of  course  it  was  suicide !  What  more  can  be  made  of 
it  ?  It  was  really  suicide.  I  never  wished  to  hurt  her,  but 
with  suicidal  fatuity  she  followed  me  up  and  brought  me  to 
bay,  and  forced  me  to  put  her  out  of  my  way  I  It  was  she 
or  I,  one  or  the  other,  must  be  sacrificed,  and — self-preser- 
ration  is  the  first  law  of  nature." 

Gentleman  Geff,  having  laid  "this  flattering  unction  to 
his  soul/'  looked  carefully  through  all  the  other  papers  to 
find  further  confirmation  of  this  theory  of  suicide,  but 
found  no  mention  made  of  the  "mystery." 

"I  fancy  the  Trumpeter  is  the  only  one  that  has  it !  The 
other  morning  papers  had  probably  all  gone  to  press  before 
this  news  reached  their  offices." 

For  a  while  he  seemed  greatly  relieved,  but  soon  he  grew 
troubled  again. 

"  The  body  will  be  taken  to  the  Morgue,  after  the  inquest, 
and  left  there  for  recognition.  Suppose  some  of  her  fellow 
passengers  in  the  steerage  of  the  steamer  in  which  she  came 
over,  should  be  led  by  curiosity  to  visit  the  deadhouse  and 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  179 

identify  the  body,  and  should  know  where  she  had  lodged, 
and  direct  the  police  to  the  place,  and  my  letters  and  photo- 
graph should  he  found.  Bah !  'A  very  extreme  improba- 
bility. Besides,  my  letters  were  all  signed  Kightly  Mont- 
gomery !  And  my  photographs  were  all  taken  in  the  hus- 
sar's uniform  and  the  military  mustache.  Not  in  the  citi- 
zen's dress  and  full  beard  of  to-day.  I  am  morbid ;  I  wish 
my  trunks  would  come !  Then  I  would  dress,  and  go  call 
on  Miss  Leegh !" 

As  if  this  wish  had  conjured  up  its  fulfillment,  there 
came  a  rap  at  his  door,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  two 
porters  bearing  between  them  a  heavy  trunk.  They  set  it 
down,  received  their  fee,  and  departed. 

"Send  my  servant  up  if  he  has  arrived !"  said  Gentleman 
Geff  to  the  men,  as  they  left  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  Clark  entered  to  take  orders. 

"I  am  going  out  to  spend  the  evening.  Open  my  trunks 
and  lay  out  a  suit,"  said  the  master. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  in  twenty  minutes  more  Gentleman 
Geff  left  the  hotel,  threw  himself  into  a  hansom  cab,  and 
drove  to  the  Vansitart  house. 

Here  he  found  Lamia  Leegh  in  radiant  beauty,  and 
passed  with  her  hours  that  made  him  forget,  for  the  time 
being,  the  sin  of  his  soul. 

He  did  not  look  at  any  evening  paper.  If  he  had  done 
t  so,  his  self-complacency  would  have  been  disturbed,  for  one 
'  and  all  of  these  journals  contained  a  more  or  less  true  ac- 
count of  the  tragedy  of  the  preceding  night,  headed: 
"Attempted  Suicide  of  a  Beautiful  Girl,"  or  in  similar  sen- 
sational words,  but  ended  in  this  correction : 

"The  young  woman  is  not  dead,  however,  as  was  erro- 
neously stated  in  one  of  the  morning  papers  that  must  have 
accepted  a,  too  hasty  report  of  the  case,  but  lies  in  a  very 
precarious  condition  at  Samaritan  Hospital.  She  is  too  low 
to  be  questioned,  or  expected  to  give  an  account  of  herself." 

But  Gentleman  Geff  never  saw  this  correction,  and  as  it 
was  the  last  that  appeared  in  the  papers  about  the  victim, 
her  would-be  murderer  lived  in  fancied  safety. 

He  persuaded  Miss  Leegh  to  join  her  friends  at  New- 
port, which — as  she  had  completed  her  trousseau,  and  had 
received  her  betrothed,  for  whom  she  had  waited  in  the  heat 
of  the  city — she  was  not  loath  to  do. 


180  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

She  wrote  to  Mrs.  Vansitart  to  ask  if  it  would  be  agree- 
able to  have  her  with  them,  and  received  a  cordial  invita- 
tion to  join  that  lady's  party. 

So,  within  a  few  days,  Miss  Leegh,  escorted  by  "Mr. 
Hay,"  embarked  on  one  of  the  Sound  steamers  for  New- 
port. 

At  the  same  hour  of  their  embarkation  a  young  woman 
— who  had  been  found  wounded  on  a  sidewalk  of  the  city 
and  taken  to  the  Samaritan  Hospital,  several  days  before, 
and  who  now,  in  answer  to  questions,  faintly  whispered  that 
her  name  was  Jane  Montgomery,  and  that  she  was  mar- 
ried— gave  birth  to  a  female  infant. 


CHAPTER     XIX 

AN    EMBARRASSING    DISCOVERY 

THE  same  evening  that  saw  the  betrothed  lovers  leave  for 
the  fashionable  seaboard  town  found  a  recently  married 
pair  of  young  people  seated  on  the  piazza  at  Lull's,  in  the 
Pine  Mountains. 

They  were  our  dear  Cleve  Stuart  and  his  small  wife, 
Palnia. 

They  had  just  finished  tea,  and  had  come  out  to  enjoy 
the  rich  afterglow  of  the  sunset  on  the  river  far  below  them, 
the  fragrant  terebinthine  odor  of  the  pines  brought  out  by 
sun  and  dew,  and  the  freshness  of  the  evening  breeze  that 
came  down  from  the  mountain  tops. 

They  sat  side  by  side,  very  happy,  very  thoughtful,  he 
clasping  her  small  hand  in  his  own. 

There  were  other  guests  of  the  house  out  on  the  long 
piazza,  and  on  the  lawn  before  it,  and  in  the  woods  beyond ; 
but  there  were  none  near  the  young  pair. 

Cleve  had  grown  to  be,  'if  not  really  in  love  with  his 
lovely  little  wife,  at  lease  very  well  satisfied  with  her. 

Palma  had  improved  in  health  and  strength  and  beauty. 
There  was  no  question  of  her  perfect  recovery. 

Cleve  was  very  affectionate  to  her;  and  now,  as  they  sat 
together,  he  was  tenderly  caressing  the  small  hand  that  he 
held. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  181 

1  Tittle  girl,"  he  said  presently,  "do  you  really  think  you 
love  me?" 

"Oh,  Cleve!" 

"When  did  you  first  begin  to  love  me,  Palma  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  I  always  did,  even  before  I  knew 
it  myself,  or  knew  that  you  existed,  for  when  I  first  met  you 
in  Mrs.  Barm's  garden,  oh !  I  felt  so  perfectly  contented, 
Cleve;  as  if  I  never  should  want  anything  more  in  the 
world  but  to  see  you  every  day.  But  you  know  all  about 
that.  I  was  a  little  child  then,  and  you  were  almost  a  young 
man.  The  feeling  has  never  changed,  Cleve,  except  to  grow 
deeper  and  deeper.  Ah !  what  can  I  do  for  you,  my  own 
beloved  Cleve !  what  can  I  do  for  you  in  return  for  the  con- 
tent you  give  me  ?"  she  said,  lifting  her  hand  and  pressing 
it  to  his  heart. 

"Love  me,  dear  child.  You  were  made  to  love,"  he 
answered,  softly. 

"But  I  want  to  do  something;  I  want  to  do  something." 

"What  do  you  wish  to  do  for  me,  dear  Palma  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Something  like  this,  if  I  could — 
bring  you  a  great  fortune,  make  you  a  great  king,  or — die 
to  save  you  from  trouble  and  give  you  happiness !" 

"Palma,"  he  said — but  his  voice  broke  down  a  little — "do 
you  know  you  are  talking  a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  child  ?" 

"Am  I?"  she  slowly  inquired.  "Well,  but  you  asked  me 
if  I  loved  you.  And  I  answered  yes ;  but,  oh !  oh !  how  I 
long  to  prove  how  much !" 

The  laugh  and  talk  of  several  people  coming  in  from  the 
lawn  toward  them  interrupted  this  little  tete-a-tete. 

They  got  up  as  by  a  simultaneous  impulse  and  walked  to 
the  other  end  of  the  piazza. 

"Dear,"  said  Cleve,  as  they  stood  leaning  over  the  banis- 
ters, "I  shall  have  to  leave  you  to-morrow." 

"To  leave  me!"  she  echoed  in  dismay. 

"But  only  for  a  few  hours,  dear." 

"But  why?" 

"To  go  down  to  the  city  to  do  a  little  business." 

"What  business,  Cleve?" 

"To  get  a  little  money." 

"Oh!  but  why  can't  you  write  a  check?" 

"A  check  would  not  do  in  this  instance.,  dear.  I — I 
•—I  have  to  sell  some  property,"  replied  Cleve,  evasively, 


182  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

for  he  did  not  wish  her  to  know  how  poor  he  was  and  what 
sacrifices  he  made. 

She  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  moment,  and  then  ex- 
claimed : 

"How  selfish  I  am,  after  all — I  who  was  just  saying  how 
much  I  would  like  to  do  for  you,  when  I  am  put  to  the  test, 
am  not  Avilling  even  to  let  you  leave  me  for  your  own  pleas- 
ure, a  single  day  I" 

"But,  dear,  it  is  not  for  pleasure,  it  is  on  business,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"And  I  would  have  hindered  your  business!  But  go, 
Cleve !  Go,  my  dear  Cleve !  You  have  not  left  me  for 
a  day  since  you  married  me,  but  have  stayed  here  in  this 
place,  that  charming  as  it  is  to  me  always,  must  be  often 
very  dull  to  you,  as  I  hear  it  said  that  it  is  to  other  gen- 
tlemen." 

"I  have  never  found  it  dull,  Palma." 

"But  go  to  the  city  to-morrow,  and  if  you  can  enjoy 
yourself  in  any  way  there,  please  do.  Go  to  your  club,  and 
to  the  opera,  if  there  is  any,  and  never  mind  if  you  don't 
come  back  until  Tuesday !  Poley  will  take  care  of  me. 
•Will  you,  now,  Cleve?  Will  you  go  and  enjoy  yourself  just 
as  if  you  were  a  single  man  and  there  was  no  such  person  as 
I?  .Oh,  Cleve,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  hindrance  to  you  in 
anything  you  wish  to  do.  I  want  only  to  be  a  happiness  as 
far  as  I  can." 

"You  foolish  child,  I  am  not  going  because  I  find  this 
place  dull — because  I  do  not  find  it  so;  nor  to  seek  pleas- 
ure in  the  city.  I  go  to  transact  business,  and  shall  return 
as  soon  as  possible;  before  night  certainly.  And  now  tell 
me  what  I  shall  bring  you  from  Vanity  Fair  ?"  he  inquired, 
with  his  arm  about  her  waist. 

"Your  own  dear  self,  Cleve!  I  want  nothing  in  the 
world  else!"  she  answered. 

"I  shall  leave  by  the  seven  o'clock  down  train." 

"Very  well,  Cleve !  I  will  get  up  to  breakfast  with  you. 
You  will  give  the  order  to-night." 

"Yes,  and  as  we  must  rise  early  we  had  better  now 
retire." 

They  went  to  their  room,  found  that  Poley  had  set  it  in 
order  for  the  night,  and  had  turned  the  light  of  the  lamp 
low. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  183 

Palma  sank  down  on  her  easy-chair. 

Cleve  closed  the  wire  shutters  and  turned  up  the  light. 
Then  he  went  to  his  large  trunk,  knelt  down,  unlocked 
and  opened  it. 

"What  are  you  doing,  dear?"  inquired  Palma. 

'^Looking  for  something." 

"What?" 

"A— a  little  box." 

"And  can't  you  find  it?" 

"  No,  it  does  not  seem  to  be  in  the  trunk,  and  it  is  not  so 
small  as  to  be  overlooked,  either.  Have  you  seen  it,  Palma  ? 
— a  mahogany,  silver-bound  box,  with  a  silver  plate  on  the 
top  bearing  my  monogram  ?"  he  anxiously  inquired. 

"I  have  never  seen  it  but  once — the  day  your  trunk 
arrived,  two  months  ago,  when  I  stood  by  Mrs.  Pole  while 
she  unpacked  the  trunk  and  took  out  all  your  clothes  and 
put  them  in  the  bureau  drawers  and  wardrobe." 

"And  not  since?" 

"No,  it  was  left  in  the  trunk,  with  some  bundles  of 
papers  and  other  things,  and  Poley  locked  the  trunk,  and 
gave  you  the  key.  I  saw  her  do  it,  and  I  have  not  seen  the 
box  nor  trunk  opened  since." 

"It  is  very  strange,"  muttered  Stuart. 

"I  hope  it  is  not  a  serious  loss,"  said  Palma,  uneasily. 

"It's  an  inconvenient  one,  dear,"  replied  Cleve,  in  a  tone 
of  assumed  cheerfulness. 

"Oh!    Some  papers,  perhaps." 

"It  may  not  be  gone — only  mislaid,"  remarked  Cleve, 
unwilling  to  distress  her  with  the  knowledge  of  his  great 
loss,  and  the  embarrassment  it  would  cause. 

He  closed  and  locked  the  trunk,  and  stood  up  with  a 
look  of  dismay.  If  the  diamonds  were  gone,  how  should  he 
pay  his  debts,  and  provide  for  his  delicate  wife,  until  he 
could  find  remunerative  employment?  And  if  gone,  how 
could  they  have  gone?  How  could  his  keys  have  been  ab- 
stracted from  his  pocket,  the  trunk  opened,  the  box  pur- 
loined, the  trunk  closed  again,  and  the  keys  returned  to  his 
pocket?  How  and  when,  by  day  or  night,  could  this  have 
been  accomplished?  While  he  and  his  wife  slept?  While 
they  were  at  their  meals?  While  they  were  out  walking? 
It  was  a  mystery  that  would  require  the  skill  of  a  sharp 
detective  even  to  find  a  clew  to  it. 


184  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  as  if  to  clear  his 
brow,  and  then  went  and  drew  out  the  bureau  drawers  to 
search  them,  mechanically,  without  the  slightest  hope  of 
finding  what  he  sought — nor  did  he  find  it. 

"Let  me  help  you !  It  may  be  on  the  wardrobe  shelves," 
said  Palma,  starting  up. 

"How  should  it  be  there?  How  should  it  be  anywhere 
but  in  the  trunk  where  I  left  it,  and  where  it  is  not !"  said 
Stuart,  with  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  locked  the  last  drawer  and 
turned  from  the  bureau. 

"I  will  look,  though !  One  cannot  tell,"  persisted  Palma, 
going  toward  the  wardrobe. 

"No,  dear;  sit  down.  You  must  not  fatigue  yourself.  I 
will  search,"  said  Stuart,  with  a  frown,  not  for  her,  but  for 
the  missing  jewels. 

He  made  a  thorough  search,  not  only  of  the  wardrobe, 
but  of  the  washstand,  the  side  tables  and  the  center-table 
drawers,  the  big  vases  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  all  over  the 
floor.  In  fact,  he  worked  on  the  square  inch  principle,  yet 
found  not  what  he  searched  for. 

"It  is  not  in  this  room !  That  is  clear !"  he  said,  giving 
up  the  search  and  dropping  into  a  chair. 

"Cleve,  when  did  you  see  the  box  last?"  inquired  Palma, 
in  a  distressed  tone. 

"About  a  month  ago.  I  have  not  had  occasion  to  open 
the  trunk  since.  But  don't  worry  yourself,  dear." 

"Perhaps  Poley  might  have  seen  it?" 

"Not  likely !    But  where  is  Mrs.  Pole ?" 

"With  her  friends  and  gossips,  the  housekeeper  and  wait- 
resses. They  have  a  good  time  together,  every  evening  after 
their  work  is  done.  Poley  always  helps  them  to  set  the 
tables  for  breakfast;  that  is  the  last  thing  they  do  at  night. 
And  then  they  go  to  the  housekeeper's  room  and  have  a 
little  supper  all  to  themselves." 

"What  a  child  this  wife  of  mine  is,  to  be  chattering  about 
housemaids,  when  diamonds  worth  thousands  are  lost ! 
But  she  doesn't  know  that,  poor  baby !"  thought  Cleve 
Stuart,  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Shall  I  go  and  fetch  Poley?"  she  inquired. 

"No,  dear;  I  will  ring  and  send  for  her,"  replied  Stuart. 

He  did  so  at  once. 

Mrs.  Pole  soon  came  in. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  185 

"Poley!"  exclaimed  Palma,  eagerly,  beginning  the  con- 
versation, "do  you  remember  that  day,  about  two  months 
ago,  when  you  unpacked  Mr.  Stuart's  traveling  trunk,  while 
I  stood  by  you?" 

"Sat  by  me,  dear,  on  your  resting-chair — sat  by  me! 
You  could  no  more  a-stood  through  all  that  unpacking  at 
that  time  than  a  six-wecks-old  baby !  You's  stronger  now," 
said  Mrs.  Pole,  chuckling. 

"  'Sat',  by  you,  then.    But  you  remember  the  day  ?" 

"Of  course,  child.    What  would  ail  me  to  forget  it?"1 

"D'o  you  remember  seeing  a  little  wooden  box?" 

"A  mahogany  box,  about  six  inches  long  and  four  inches 
wide  and  as  many  deep,  bound  with  silver  bars,  and  with  a 
silver  plate  on  the  top  ?  Yes,  I  remember  it  perfectly." 

"Did  you  take  it  out,  Poley?" 

"No,  ma'am.  Don't  you  know,  I  asked  you  if  we  were  to 
take  that  out  also  and  put  it  on  one  of  the  tables  for  an 
ornament,  and  you  said  'No,  no;  it  might  contain  valuable 
papers,  and  must  be  left  in  the  trunk  and  locked  up/  And 
so  we  did  leave  it  there,  and  locked  the  trunk  and  gave  the 
key  to  Mr.  Stuart." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know;  so  we  did.  And  I  have  not  seen  the 
box  since.  Have  you,  Poley?" 

"Not  a  glimpse  of  it.    Why?    Is  it  missing  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Stuart.  "But  say  nothing  whatever 
about  it.  The  matter  must  be  kept  a  secret  for  the  present 
between  us  three.  If  there  is  to  be  any  hope  of  recovering 
the  box,  nothing  whatever  must  be  said  about  it,  but  the 
affair  must  be  quietly  put  in  the  hands  of  a  detective." 

"Is  it  so  valuable  as  all  that,  sir?"  anxiously  inquired 
Mrs.  Pole. 

"Its  loss  is  very  inconvenient  just  at  this  time,"  evasively 
replied  Stuart. 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  know  to  my  cost  how  ill  convenient  it  is 
to  lose  valuable  papers  sometimes.  I  had  to  pay  a  bill  twice 
over  to  the  corner  grocery  because  I  had  lost  the  receipt. 
And  that  same  pinched  me  the  whole  winter,"  said  Mrs. 
Pole,  who  was  possessed  with  the  idea  that  the  missing 
casket  contained  important  documents.  "But  are  you  sure 
it  is  gone,  sir?  Have  you  looked  everywhere?'^  she  in- 
quired. 


186  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Everywhere  except  in  Mrs.  Stuart's  cologne  bottles  and 
boots,"  replied  Cleve,  with  grim  humor. 

"Oh,  dear  me !    I  am  very  sorry !" 

"That  will  do,  Poley,  dear.  We  won't  keep  you  up  any 
longer,  for  we  must  go  to  bed,  too ;  because  Mr.  Stuart  has 
to  take  the  early  train  for  New  York  to-morrow,"  put  in 
Palma. 

"Going  to  the  city !"  exclaimed  the  woman. 

"  Only  for  a  few  hours.  Shall  be  back  by  tea  time,"  Cleve 
explained,  and  added: 

"You  will  take  excellent  care  of  my  wife  while  I  am 
gone  ?" 

"Trust  me  for  that,  sir.  I  took  excellent  care  of  her 
before  you  came,"  said  Mrs.  Pole.  And  then  she  bade  the 
young  pair  good-night  and  left  the  room. 

Cleve  Stuart  could  not  sleep  that  night  Keen  anxiety 
kept  him  awake.  The  mystery  of  the  robbery,  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  future,  preyed  upon  his  mind. 

He  felt  willing  to  take  any  employment  now — even  a 
coachman's  or  a  butler's  place,  if  no  better  could  be  found, 
to  support  the  fragile  young  life  for  which  he  had  made 
himself  responsible — yes,  even  a  coachman's  or  a  butler's 
place,  so  that  she  might  never  know  it  and  be  distressed  by 
the  knowledge — the  coachman's  place,  however,  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  butler's,  since  he  would  rather  drive  horses  than 
pass  dishes — an  unreasonable  prejudice,  yet  a  strong  one. 

He  had  one  valuable  piece  of  property  left — his  watch — 
which  had  also  been  his  father's  before  him.  It  was  a  time- 
piece of  finest  workmanship  and  perfect  accuracy,  inclosed 
in  a  heavy  hunting  case,  and  with  a  monogram  in  rare 
rubies.  It  had  cost  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  He 
might  pawn  this  for  one  hundred  dollars,  perhaps  for  more. 
With  this  money  he  would  be  able  to  stave  off  starvation 
until  he  could  get  employment. 

After  a  sleepless  night  he  arose  at  six  o'clock  to  prepare 
for  his  journey  to  New  York. 

Palma  was  still  sleeping.  She  had  slept  like  a  child 
through  the  night,  and  he  would  not  now  disturb  her. 

There  was  always  a  half-past  six  o'clock  breakfast  for  the 
men  who  had  to  go  down  to  the  city  by  the  seven  o'clock 
train.  For  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  at  Lull's  he 
joined  that  early  party  at  the  table,  and  had  to  go  through 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  18? 

a  course  of  "chaffing"  about  the  honeymoon  being  over  at 
last,  and  business  asserting  its  claims,  and  so  forth. 

He  took  it  all  very  good-humoredly,  and,  when  he  had 
finished  his  meal,  left  the  table,  and  went  back  to  his  room, 
to  take  leave  of  Palma. 

He  found  her  awake  and  ready  to  rise,  with  Mrs.  Pole  in 
attendance  on  her. 

"  Oh,  Cleve !  to  think,  after  all,  I  should  have  overslept 
myself !  Why  didn't  you  wake  me  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  You  have  not  slept  beyond  your  usual  time,  dear.  And 
I  thought  it  best  to  let  you  sleep  on.  Now  don't  get  up. 
Lie  still,  and  rest.  I  am  going  this  moment  There  is  the 
stage  full  of  men,  and  waiting  for  me  to  crowd  them.  Good- 
morning,  dear  little  Palma. " 

And  he  kissed  her  many  times  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XX 

JUDY'S  CHARGE 

JUDY  gazed  down  in  distress  and  perplexity  on  the  beau- 
tiful dark  eyes,  which  were  looking,  in  vacancy,  up  to  her 
face. 

"Oh,  me  darlint !  me  darlint !  why  don't  ye  spake  till  me? 
Don't  ye  know  yer  own  thrue  gurrul,  that  have  come  all 
the  way  from  Grizzly  to  find  ye  ?  Och,  then  spake  till  me, 
Ean,"  she  pleaded,  laying  her  hand  on  his  head. 

"  'As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light — 
We  never  saw  by  day/  " 

crooned  the  boy,  in  a  low,  dreamy  tone. 

"Och,  thin,  he's  out  av  his  head  entirely.  And  is  he 
always  this-a-way,  sir?"  she  inquired,  almost  ready  to 
break  down  with  fear  and  grief. 

"Not  always;  but  often.  Do  not  be  alarmed,  however. 
He  is  doing  very  well.  He  will  get  over  this.  It  is  only  a 
question  of  time,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"And  are  ye  sure  he'll  come  right,  sirr?" 

"Reasonably  sure.  It  is  only  a  question  of  time,"  re- 
peated the  surgeon. 


188  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Of  how  much  time?"  persisted  Jucty. 

"Ah!  that  we  cannot  tell  you." 

"Days,  weeks,  months,  years?  Oh,  sirr,  tell  me  some- 
thing!" 

"It  may  be  days  or  weeks;  scarcely  a  month,  I  should 
think." 

"And  may  I  have  lave  to  bide  and  nurse  him?" 

The  surgeon  hesitated. 

"Sure,  sirr,  Ran  and  me — we  be  swateharrts,  engaged  to 
be  married,"  persisted  Judy,  crimsoning  with  modesty,  yet 
determined  to  gain  her  point.  "Yis,  sirr;  and  if  the  praist 
had  only  asked  the  blissing  upon  us,  sure  nobody  would 
a-hindered  me  from  tending  me  own  bhoy.  Say,  sirr, 
may  I?" 

"Miss  Judy,"  replied  the  surgeon,  with  a  smile,  "you 
are  over  young  for  a  hospital  nurse,  and  I  doubt  if  you  have 
had  much  experience  in  that  line  of  usefulness." 

"Oh,  hevn't  I,  thin,  sirr?  Sure,  and  didn't  I  come  from 
Grizzly  itself?  And  ain't  the  min  there  everlastingly  git- 
ting  their  heads  broke  or  cut  or  something?  And  no 
docther  to  the  fore,  and  me  the  only  woman,  forbye  two 
half  Injun  bastes  that  don't  know  nothing?  Sure,  it's 
plenty  av  exparience  I've  had  in  broken  heads,  and  broken 
bones,  too,"  eagerly  explained  Judy. 

"Very  well.  But  this  is  not  only  a  question  of  skill  and 
knowledge,  it  is  a  question  of  propriety ;  and  I  think  I  will 
have  to  submit  it  to  a  lady." 

"Oh,  thin,  sure,  if  it  is  to  a  leddy,  a  rale  leddy  and  not 
an  imeetation  leddy,  I'm  not  affeard.  A  rale  leddy  will  let 
me  tind  me  bhoy?" 

"Then  do  you  remain  here  while  I  go  and  speak  to  the 
colonel's  wife,"  said  the  surgeon,  as  he  handed  a  chair  to 
the  girl,  who  then  seated  herself  beside  the  bed  of  the 
wounded  man. 

The  surgeon  left  the  room.  At  the  outer  door  he  found 
Longman,  still  with  Judy's  Tip. 

"Whose's  dog  is  that?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"He  belongs  to  the  girl  inside.  And  a  time  I've  had 
keeping  him  here.  If  I  hadn't  made  his  acquaintance  on 
the  road,  and  given  a  good  impression  by  feeding  him  when 
he  was  half  famished,  I  don't  think  I  could  hold  him  now," 
answered  Longman. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  189 

The  surgeon  passed  out,  crossed  the  court  to  the  colonel's 
quarters,  where  he  found  the  family  just  about  to  sit  down 
to  tea. 

With  the  frankness  of  frontier  fort  life,  he  accepted  the 
lady's  invitation  to  join  them,  and  took  the  place  which 
was  prepared  for  him  at  the  table. 

"And  how  is  your  interesting  young  charge,  doctor?"1 
inquired  Mrs.  Moseley,  as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  pekoe. 

"Getting  better  slowly — very  slowly,"  replied  the  sur- 
geon, taking  the  cup  with  a  bow  of  acknowledgment. 

"We  may  be  very  thankful  that  he  is  mending  instead  of 
dying,"  observed  the  lady. 

"I  have  a  question  to  submit  to  you,  madam." 

"A  question  ?    What  is  it  ?" 

"A  young  woman  has  arrived  at  the  fort  this  afternoon. 
She  says  she  comes  from  Grizzly,  and  is  engaged  to  be 
married  to  young  Hay.  She  asks  to  be  permitted  to  nurse 
him.  Now,  the  question  I  have  to  submit  to  you  is  this: 
Would  it  be  proper  to  allow  her  to  do  so  ?" 

The  colonel's  wife  hesitated,  paused  to  reflect,  and  then 
answered : 

"That  will  depend  very  much  upon  what  sort  of  a  girl 
she  is.  I  must  see  her  and  speak  to  her  before  answering 
your  question  or  giving  my  opinion.  Did  young  Hay 
recognize  her?" 

"He!    No,  indeed.    He  recognizes  no  one  yet." 

"I  will  walk  over  with  you  after  tea,  and  see  the  poor 
girl.  What  do  you  think,  colonel  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Moseley, 
appealing  to  her  husband. 

Now  Col.  Moseley  commanded  the  fort,  but  was  in  turn 
commanded  by  his  wife.  So  he  answered : 

"I  think  your  idea  a  very  good  one,  my  dear." 

When  they  arose  from  the  table  Mrs.  Moseley  threw  a 
light  shawl  around  her  head  and  shoulders,  and  calling  her 
twelve-year-old  boy  to  go  with  them,  joined  the  surgeon  in 
his  walk  back  to  the  hospital. 

Longman  and  the  dog  had  disappeared  from  the  door  of 
the  surgeon's  quarters.  As  they  afterward  found  out,  Long- 
man had  procured  a  chain  and  chained  the  dog  up,  and  left 
the  fort  to  return  to  his  hut. 

Dr.  Hill  took  the  two  visitors  up  to  the  ward  in  which 
the  wounded  man  lay. 


190  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Judy  still  sat  by  his  side. 

She  looked  up,  and  on  seeing  the  lady,  arose  and  courte- 
sied,  and  stood  waiting. 

"How  do  you  do  ?  Don't  disturb  yourself.  Resume  your 
seat,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  kindly,  as  she  came  to  the  side  of 
the  patient  and  took  a  second  chair  which  the  surgeon 
brought  to  her. 

Ean  had  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep. 

The  surgeon  looked  down  at  him  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  said,  in  a  low  tone,  to  the  lady : 

"I  think,  madam,  if  you  wish  to  speak  to  this  young  girl, 
it  would  be  well  that  both  of  you  should  retire  to  my  parlor, 
as  talking  here  might  disturb  the  poor  fellow's  rest.  I  will 
remain  by  his  side  until  you  return. " 

"Thank  you,  doctor.  You  are  quite  right.  Come, 
child,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  Judy's  shoulder. 
"Come,  Aleck,"  she  added,  beckoning  her  son. 

And  then,  attended  by  the  boy  and  girl,  she  led  the  way 
to  the  surgeon's  little  parlor. 

"Now,  'Leek,"  she  said  to  the  boy,  "you  may  go  out  and 
wait  for  me.  I  wish  to  talk  to  this  young  person  alone." 

The  boy  ran  off,  and  the  lady,  followed  by  Judy,  passed 
into  the  doctor's  room. 

Mrs.  Moseley  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  signed  to  Judy 
to  come  and  sit  beside  her. 

But  Judy,  finding  herself  alone  with  the  lady,  only 
clasped  her  hands  and  fixed  her  eyes  imploringly  on  the 
lady's  face,  and  pleaded : 

"  Oh,  madam !  sure,  the  good  docther  says  it  will  be  just 
as  ye  plaise.  And,  sure,  ye  will  plaise  to  let  me  sthay  wid 
me  poor  Ran  and  nurse  him.  Sure,  and  we  are  engaged 
this  year  and  more,  and  it  only  naids  the  praist's  blissing, 
and  no  one  would  have  the  right  to  part  us." 

"My  poor  child,  I  see  no  objection  to  your  staying  with 
and  nursing  your  betrothed — under  certain  restrictions,  of 
course,"  gently  replied  the  colonel's  wife. 

"Oh,  may  the  Lord  bliss  ye,  ma'am,  for  a  kind  teddy!" 
warmly  responded  Judy. 

"Now  sit  down,  and  tell  me  all  about  yourself  and  your 
lover.  I  knew  young  Hay  when  he  was  a  little  boy.  His 
parents  were  in  good  circumstances  then,  and  lived  in  San 
JEVancisco." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  191 

'"And  nivir  dhramed  their  son  would  ivir  let  himself 
down  to  the  likes  av  me.  Och !  but  he  had  misfortins  since 
thin,  leddy.  But  now  good  fortin  has  come  to  him  again, 
let  him  only  live  to  enjoy  that  same." 

"He  will  live.  But  now  tell  me  all  about  him,  and  about 
yourself  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  who  naturally  took  it 
for  granted  that  the  good  fortune  alluded  to  by  Judy  was  in 
the  only  shape  in  which  it  ever  came  to  a  miner — gold  ore. 

Judy  frankly  told  her  whole  story,  concealing  nothing — 
not  even  her  own  and  her  twin  brother's  fatherless,  mother- 
less, friendless  and  nameless  condition  when  they  were  left 
in  the  basket  at  the  door  of  the  Hospital  of  the  Holy  Mater- 
nity, or  her  years  of  servitude  with  her  hard  taskmistress, 
or  her  wanderings  with  her  brother  until  they  drifted  into 
Grizzly,  where  they  were  received  and  sheltered  and  pro- 
vided for  by  Ran  Hay,  until,  as  she  expressed  it,  they 
"could  turn  round" — that  is,  find  work  and  settle  them- 
selves. 

Then  she  spoke  glowingly  of  Ran  Hay;  of  his  benevo- 
lence, generosity  and  hospitality,  of  how,  soon  after  he  had 
befriended  her  brother  and  herself,  he  had  taken  in  a  fine 
English  gentleman  and  given  him  free  board  and  lodging 
for  months  and  months. 

She  told  how,  on  the  first  day  of  that  current  month  of 
April,  Ran  Hay  had  found  out  through  an  advertisement  in 
a  newspaper,  that  he  was  "nixt  av  kin  to  a  great  estate  in 
old  England/'  How  Ran  and  herself  had  talked  over  the 
new  condition  and  agreed  that  after  he  should  have  taken 
possession  of  his  property,  he  and  she  should  each  go  to 
school — he  to  college,  she  to  a  girl's  academy — and  prepare 
for  the  position  they  were  to  occupy,  and  then  that  they 
should  get  married  and  go  to  live  at  Haymore,  the  patri- 
monial estate  of  the  Hays  in  Yorkshire. 

She  related  how,  on  the  second  day  of  April,  at  sunrise, 
Ran  Hay  had  started  from  Grizzly  for  San  Francisco,  tak- 
ing with  him  his  pile  of  gold  ore  and  his  packet  of  docu- 
ments, and  accompanied  by  Gentleman  Geff,  the  English- 
man whom  he  had  befriended. 

And  she  told  of  the  warning  "dhrame"  she  had  on  the 
night  after  Ran's  departure,  of  her  resolution  to  follow  him, 
of  her  journey  through  the  wilderness,  attended  by  her  dog 
Tip;  of  her  night's  sleep  in  the  hollow  oak  tree,  guarded  by; 


192  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Tip;  of  her  next  morning's  adventure  with  the  wolves,  de- 
fended by  Tip ;  of  her  fatigue,  hunger,  thirst  and  f aintness, 
when  she  was  found  by  the  hunter  Longman;  of  her  dis- 
covery, through  the  hunter's  story,  that  her  lover  lay 
wounded  at  this  fort. 

"And  noo  I  have  found  him,  dee-ar  leddy,  ye  will  say 
nought  agin'  me  sthaying  to  nurse  him  ?" 

"No,  I  will  not.  You  shall  stay  with  your  betrothed — 
under  certain  restrictions,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley. 

Judy  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"You  shall  have  a  little  room  and  a  little  bed  to  yourself 
in  our  quarters.  It  would  not  be  proper  that  you  should 
sleep  here  in  the  hospital,  where  there  are  no  other  women." 

Judy  caught  the  lady's  hand  and  kissed  it  again,  as  she 
added : 

"You  and  meself  knows  that  right;  but  sure  it  is  little 
shlape  I  ixpict  to  get  till  me  Ban  is  oot  av  danger." 

"He  is  out  of  danger,  my  girl." 

"Till  he  comes  to  himself,  thin." 

"That  will  not  be  long,  I  hope.  You  must  not  deprive 
yourself  of  sleep  with  no  benefit  to  him.  But  tell  me  this — • 
were  they  important  documents  the  young  man  had  with 
him  when  he  was  shot?" 

"0-o-o-h!"  cried  Judjr,  shuddering  at  the  lady's  last 
word.  "Sure  they  was  all  the  papers  that  was  nicissary  to 
prove  himself  was  himself,  lagal  and  lawful,  and  nixt  av 
kin  to  the  great  istate." 

"Do  you  think,  Judy,  that  the  adventurer  who  accom- 
panied him  could  have  been  his  assailant  ?" 

"The — which — ma'am — plaise?"  inquired  Judy,  utterly 
perplexed  by  the  lady's  words. 

"Do  you  think  the  man  who  started  to  walk  with  Ran 
from  Grizzly  to  'Frisco,  could  have  been  the  one  who  shot 
and  robbed  him  ?"  inquired  the  lady,  amending  her  speech. 

"Och,  no,  ma'am,  sure !  It's  little  luve  I  have  for  Gen- 
tleman Geff,  meself!  And  little  faith  in  him,  more  be- 
token !  But  I  don't  belaive  he  could  be  a  robber  and  a 
murtherer !  No,  indade !  He's  too  nice  and  clane,  and  too 
soft-spoken,  and  too  much  of  a  rale  gentleman,  for  that," 
said  Judy,  with  the  utmost  earnestness. 

For  you  see  all  the  robbers  and  murderers  of  whom  the 
girl  had  ever  heard  were  "redskins"  or  "borderd  ruffians," 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  193 

not  dainty  gentlemen  in  spotless  linen,  broadcloth  and  kid 
gloves. 

"Then  who  on  earth  could  have  done  the  deed?"  mused 
the  lady,  half  aloud. 

"Injuns,  I  reckon,"  said  Judy. 

"And  what  could  have  become  of  that  other  man,  since 
he  has  never  turned  up,  and  never  been  heard  of,  dead  or 
alive?"  still  mused  the  lady. 

"Dee-ar  knows!"  sighed  Judy,  with  despair  of  solving 
that  problem.  "A  many  things  may  have  happened  to  him 
and  we  nivir  know  av  it.  He  may  have  run  away  and  been 
chased  and  killed  at  a  distance  from  where  Ean  fell ;  or  if 
so  be  he  was  killed  near  the  same  spot,  his  body  may  have 
been  carried  off  by  the  Injuns.  Or  else  eaten  up  by  the 
wolves  or  the  painters — but  thin  they  wad  have  found  that 
oot !  Meself  reckons  he  was  carried  off  by  Injuns !" 

"And  these  important  documents  of  which  he  was 
robbed,"  said  the  lady,  speaking  more  to  herself  than  to 
her  hearer.  "But,  oh  !  of  course  they  could  have  been  only 
attested  copies  from  registers."1 

"Oh,  yifi!"  exclaimed  Judy,  "the  dockermints  was  only 
copied  from  the  copybooks.  And,  oh !  isn't  it  lucky,  ma'am, 
that  me  poor  Ean  brought  only  the  copies  instead  av  the 
copybooks  ?" 

"Very  well,"  assented  the  lady,  with  a  smile. 

After  a  while  Mrs.  Moseley  arose,  and  said : 

"Now,  my  good,  little  Judy,  I  will  take  you  back  to  your 
Ean,  and  you  may  sit  by  him  until  ten  o'clock;  then  the 
night  watch  will  be  appointed,  and  Dr.  Hill  will  send  you, 
in  charge  of  an  orderly,  to  our  quarters,  where  I  will  give 
you  lodgings.  You  will  do  as  I  tell  you,  child.  It  is  the 
only  condition  under  which  you  can  be  permitted  even  to 
help  to  nurse  your  betrothed." 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  sure  it's  an  ungrateful  baste  av  a  diril  I'd 
be  intirely  if  I  didn't  mind  iviry  word  that  dnraps  from 
your  lips !  But  plaise  tell  me  how  sune  I  may  kina.  to  me 
Ean  the  mornin'  ?" 

"As  soon  as  you  have  breakfasted.  Come,  now,  it  is  but 
eight  o'clock.  You  have  two  more  hours  left  to  ait  by  him 
to-night." 

"Yis — blissid  be  the  saints,  and  thank  yerself,  ma'am," 
said  Judy,  as  she  followed  her  conductress  from  the  room. 


194  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Mrs.  Moseley  led  the  way  back  to  the  ward,  where  they 
found  Ran  still  calmly  sleeping. 

"He  has  not  moved  for  an  hour,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
got  up  and  resigned  his  post  to  Judy. 

"And  is  it  a  good  sign  sure,  docther,  dee-ar?"  inquired 
Judy. 

"An  excellent  sign." 

Mrs.  Moseley  then  took  leave,  and  went  out,  calling  her 
son  to  attend  her. 

Judy  sat  and  watched  the  sleeper,  and  prayed  to  the 
Virgin,  and  to  all  the  saints,  for  his  restoration  to  health 
and  strength. 

The  surgeon  had  told  her  that  if  the  sleeper  awoke,  she 
must  send  a  message  to  him  by  the  old  soldier  who  sat  in 
the  hall  on  the  outside  of  the  ward  door. 

But  Ran  never  stirred,  while  Judy  sat  and  held  his  hand. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  surgeon  entered  the  ward,  came  up  to 
the  side  of  the  bed,  nodded  to  Judy,  took  the  hand  that  she 
held,  felt  the  pulse  of  the  patient  and  looked  in  his  sleeping 
face.  Then  he  said  to  the  young  nurse : 

"He  is  doing  well,  my  child.  You  can  go  now.  Mossop, 
the  old  soldier  outside,  has  orders  to  see  you  across  to  the 
colonel's  quarters/' 

Judy  arose,  courtesied  her  thanks,  and  left  the  ward. 

(Old  Mossop,  who  was  seated  on  a  bench  outside,  touched 
his  bald  forehead  by  way  of  salutation,  and  followed  her 
downstairs  and  out  of  the  building. 

The  lights  were  still  burning  in  the  colonel's  quarters 
when  they  reached  the  front  door,  which  was  opened  by  an 
orderly. 

All  the  colonel's  girls  and  boys  had  retired  for  the  night, 
but  the  colonel  and  his  wife  sat  at  a  little  table  in  the  center 
of  the  parlor ;  she — whisper  it  not  in  the  fashionable  circles 
of  the  Eastern  cities,  though  it  is  true,  for  I  know  it  of  my 
own  personal  knowledge — she,  the  colonel's  wife,  darning 
the  family  stockings ;  he — but  I  don't  expect  to  be  believed 
in  this  assertion — he,  reading  a  very  old-fashioned  book — 
the  family  Bible. 

He  closed  the  book  and  laid  it  reverently  on  the  table. 
She  drew  the  little  red  stocking  upon  which  she  had  been  at 
work  off  her  hand,  and  both  stood  up  to  receive  the  new- 
comer. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  195 

They  could  not  be  called  a  very  handsome-looking  pair 
as  they  stood  there,  but  they  were  a  wholesome,  pleasant, 
satisfatcory-looking  pair. 

He  waa  a  man  of  fifty,  rather  stout,  rather  bald,  with 
kind  blue  eyes  and  a  pleasant  smile.  He  wore  his  faded 
blue  uniform  with  the  tarnished  straps,  which  he  wore  all 
day  long  in  the  house  or  out  of  the  house,  on  duty  or  off 
duty.  It  was  a  matter  of  economy  with  the  father  of  eleven 
children,  all  of  them  under  eighteen  years  of  age.  He 
really  could  not  afford  a  dressing  gown  any  more  than  his 
wife  could  afford  a  seamstress. 

She  was  a  small,  slight  woman,  with  a  dark  complexion, 
dark  hair  parted  in  the  middle  of  a  high  forehead,  and  rip- 
pling down  in  little  crinkling  wavelets  to  her  temples,  and 
thence  carried  backward  and  wound  with  the  thick  black 
hair  into  a  soft  coil  at  the  nape  of  her  neck.  It  needed 
daylight  to  show  the  few  silver  threads  that  mingled  with 
the  dark  tresses.  Her  eyes  were  the  charm  of  her  face,  they 
were  so  dark,  and  deep,  and  glowing  with  good  will  to  all ; 
they  were  fringed  with  long,  black  lashes  and  arched  with 
low,  black  brows.  She  wore  a  brown  alpaca  so  well  repaired 
that  it  did  not  show  its  age,  and  plain  linen  collar  and 
cuffs. 

"This  is  the  young  girl  of  whom  I  spoke,  colonel,"  she 
said,  presenting  Judy. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  child.  You  were  a  brave  little 
girl  to  come  so  far  alone  to  find  your  friend,"  he  said. 

Judy  courtesied  and  blushed,  and  blushed  and  courte- 
sied  again,  but  she  found  no  word  to  say  in  her  bashfulness, 
for  to  her  the  colonel  commandant  of  the  fort  was  such  an 
awfully  great  personage. 

"  Come,  you  are  tired.  I  will  show  you  where  you  are  to 
sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  taking  a  lighted  candle  from  the 
mantelpiece  and  beckoning  the  girl  to  follow  her. 

Judy  courtesied  to  the  colonel,  and  left  the  room  with 
the  lady. 

"All  our  apartments  are  on  the  ground  floor,  which  is  a 
blessing,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  as  she  moved  on  down  the 
middle  passage  toward  the  rear  of  the  house. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  was  all  that  Judy  found  to  answer. 

"Your  room  is  next  to  the  nursery,  and  so  you  need  not 


196  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

be  afraid,"  said  the  lady,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  what 
seemed  an  annex  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

"Sure,  ma'am,  I  would  nivir  be  afeard  in  the  good  fort 
itself  with  the  great  colonel  and  all  the  brave  sojers  to  pur- 
tect  us.  No,  sure,  not  be  afeard  av  all  the  red  Injuns  in  the 
wurruld,"  replied  Judy,  who  found  her  tongue  as  she  fol- 
lowed her  benefactress  into  the  daintiest,  prettiest  little 
doll's  house  ever  seen! — the  like  of  which  she  had  never 
dramed  of  in  her  life ! — the  like  of  which,  perhaps,  could 
not  be  found  anywhere  else  on  the  planet,  except  in  a  lady's 
apartments  of  some  officer's  quarters  in  a  Southwestern 
frontier  fort.  I  say  Southwestern,  because  the  climate 
further  north  would  not  tolerate  the  existence  of  such  a 
bandbox  for  a  bed-chamber.  • 

It  was  so  unique  that  it  is  worth  a  description. 

It  was  a  little  annex  to  the  rear  of  the  colonel's  quarters, 
hastily  built  of  boards,  and  fitted  up  with  just  such  material 
as  the  post  trader  could  furnish  for  the  accommodation  of 
a  young  lady  friend  from  New  Orleans,  who  had.  on  the 
previous  year,  announced  her  intention  of  coming  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  of  the  summer  with  the  colonel's  wife. 

It  was  a  little  case,  just  six  feet  square.  Its  board  walls 
were  covered  with  pale  pink  paper  cambric.  Its  one  win- 
dow of  four  small  panes — which  was  opposite  the  door  and 
over  the  bed — was  curtained  with  white  net,  tied  back  with 
strips  of  pink  cambric.  One-half  the  room  was  taken  up 
by  the  bed,  which  was  covered  with  a  white  counterpane 
and  veiled  with  a  pink  mosquito  net.  There  was  no  other 
article  of  furniture  in  this  box  but  a  small  washstand,  cov- 
ered with  pink  and  white  drapery,  and  surmounted  by  a 
little  shelf,  on  which  stood  a  pincushion  and  a  small  look- 
ing-glass, all  veiled  and  festooned  with  white  net,  tied  up 
with  pink  strips,  and  one  little  resting-chair,  ingeniously 
constructed  of  a  barrel  cut  into  shape,  fitted  with  a  seat, 
stuffed  with  hay,  and  covered  and  draped  with  pink  and 
white  calico. 

Judy  paused  on  the  threshold  and  gasped  for  breath. 
iN"ot  the  splendors  of  Aladdin's  palace  could  have  stricken 
the  log-hut  girl  with  more  dumb  admiration  than  this  rosy 
bower,  that  looked,  indeed,  less  like  an  open  bedchamber 
a  magnified  opening  rose.  She  was  afraid  to  set  foot 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  197 

in  it,  much  more  to  dream  of  such  a  desecration  as  to  sleep 
in  it. 

"Go  in,  child,"  said  the  lady. 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!  oh!  I— I— must  go  in  there?  I  should 
sile  the  pretty  place !"  said  Judy,  looking  down  at  her  black 
cloth  basque,  blue  linsey  skirt  and  coarse  shoes. 

"Nonsense,  child !  Go  in.  It  is  late.  You  should  be  in 
bed,"  said  the  lady.  And  then  she  herself  entered,  and  set 
the  candle  and  candlestick  in  the  wash  basin  for  safety,  and 
left  the  room. 

"Slip  the  bolt  after  me,  Judy.  Good-night,"  she  said,  as 
she  passed  out  of  sight. 

Judy  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  according  to  orders. 
It  was  some  time  before  she  could  reconcile  the  act  of  going 
to  bed  in  that  pink  shell,  with  her  idea  of  the  fitness  of 
things. 

She  took  off  her  coarse  upper  clothing,  folded  it  and  laid 
it  on  the  floor — not  for  the  world  would  she  have  laid  it  on 
the  dainty  chair.  Her  underclothing  was  as  clean  as 
need  be. 

"I  feel  just  as  if  I  was  inside  of  a  rosy  cloud,"  she  said, 
as  she  got  between  the  sheets  under  the  pink  mosquito  net. 

But  she  was  very  tired,  and  so  she  soon  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

MIKE'S  MAD  CHASE 

NO-MAN'S  MIKE  returned  to  his  log  cabin  very  late  on 
the  night  of  the  day  of  Judy's  departure.  He  had  lingered 
longer  than  usual  at  the  shaft  that  afternoon.  Then  on  his 
way  home  he  had  been  beguiled  into  "Ben's  Bower,"  where 
he  had  loitered  away  the  evening,  talking  with  a  lot  of 
loafers  over  the  mining  topics  of  the  day — the  promising 
"strikes,"  or  finds,  the  failures,  the  successes,  and  so  on; 
and  especially  of  Ran  Hay's  sudden  accession  to  fortune 
and  his  departure  for  'Frisco,  accompanied  by  Gentleman 
Geff,  en  route  for  the  East  to  claim  his  inheritance. 

They  all  agreed  that  it  was  "jolly  good-natured  in  Gent" 
to  go  with  Ran.  Two  were  safer  than  one  could  be  in  going 
through  the  wood,  now  that  the  redskins  were  abroad  again. 

Mike  lingered  long  into  the  evening — not  drinking  nor 


198  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

gambling,  as  were  many  of  the  others — for  he  seldom  in- 
dulged in  either  dissipation — but  smoking  and  listening, 
and  occasionally  putting  his  word  in  the  conversation.  His 
conscience  reproached  him  for  not  going  home  to  Judy, 
whom  he  believed  to  be  waiting  for  him  in  their  cabin ;  but 
Mike  hated  gloom,  and  he  feared  that  he  should  find  Judy 
fretting  after  Ran. 

At  last  the  clock  struck  ten. 

At  that  hour,  it  will  be  remembered,  Judy  was  thirty 
miles  off,  fast  asleep  in  the  hollow  oak  tree,  guarded  by  Tip. 

But  Mike,  who  had  no  suspicion  that  she  had  left  Grizzly, 
and  thought  that  she  was  alone  in  her  cabin,  jumped  upon 
his  feet,  and  shouted : 

"Sure  it's  a  baste  I  am  to  be  laving  my  swishter  all  this 
time,  and  I  fale  like  throwing  stones  at  meself  for  that 
same !" 

And  he  hurried  away. 

When  he  reached  his  own  cabin  he  found  all  there  dark, 
still  and  silent.  He  called: 

"Judy !" 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

"She's  gone  to  bed,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then  again, 
in  a  higher  key,  he  called : 

"Judy!" 

Still  there  came  no  response. 

"The  craychur  is  fast  aslape,  and  no  wonder,"  he  re- 
flected. And  then  he  raised  his  voice,  and  shouted : 

"Judy!" 

When  the  echo,  which  was  his  only  answer,  died  away,  he 
grumbled: 

"Och,  but  she's  the  champion  slaper,  so  she  is!  Hooly 
mither !  how  she  can  slape  when  she  gives  her  whole  mind 
till  it !" 

Then  he  groped  his  way  to  the  shelf  where  the  match  box 
lay,  struck  a  light,  lit  a  candle  and  looked  around. 

The  blanket  hung  down  before  Judy's  sleeping  place  as 
it  always  hung  when  the  girl  was  in  bed.  If  Mike 
had  looked  behind  that  blanket,  he  would  have  seen  that 
Judy  was  not  there ;  but  in  all  the  days  and  nights  that  he 
and  his  sister  had  lired  together  in  that  room  Mike  had 
never  once  raised  that  veil.  His  sister's  privacy  was  aa 
sacred  to  him  as  that  of  a  queen. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  199 

He  looked  at  the  hanging  blanket,  helieving  that  she  was 
behind  it,  while,  in  fact,  as  we  know,  she  was  at  that  time 
sound  asleep  in  a  hollow  tree  thirty  miles  away. 

"Poor  gurrul !  She  didn't  slape  much  last  night.  Sure 
she's  making  up  for  that  same  to-night,"  said  Mike,  as  he 
turned  away. 

Then  he  set  the  candle  down  on  the  table,  and  noticed  at 
the  same  time  that  Judy  had  left  his  supper  there  ready  for 
him,  but  cold. 

Mike  took  a  three-legged  stool,  drew  it  to  the  table,  and 
seated  himself.  Then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  put  it  under 
the  table — instead  of  going  and  hanging  it  on  its  accus- 
tomed peg,  to  which  he  would  have  found  pinned  Judy's 
note,  explaining  her  absence;  but  Mike  was  fated  not  to 
learn  the  fact  that  night. 

In  perfect  peace  of  mind,  he  made  a  hearty  supper  of 
cold  bacon  and  bread,  washed  down  with  cold  tea.  Then 
he  blew  out  the  candle  and  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  "inno- 
cent of  the  knowledge"  that  Judy  was  far  away  from  the 
cabin,  away  from  the  camp  and  spending  the  night  in  a 
hollow  tree  in  the  midst  of  the  wilderness,  guarded  by  her 
dog. 

Mike  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just  until  he  was  awakened  in 
the  morning  by  the  sun  shining  through  a  chink  in  the  wall 
full  upon  his  upturned  face  and  under  his  eyelids. 

It  was  usually  blithe  Judy  who  was  up  first  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  whose  songs  or  whose  movements  aroused  her 
brother. 

But  now  it  was  the  risen  sun. 

"  Och !  Ohone !  what's  the  maning  av  this,  and  meself 
slaping  the  blissid  sunlight  away !  And  the  fire  not 
kindled !  And  Judy  not  to  the  fore !  Gone  to  fetch  wood 
and  wather  to  git  the  breakfast  for  the  two  av  us,  and  me 
slaping  like  a  log !  Och,  Mike  Man,  be  afther  throwing 
stones  at  yourself  for  a  brute  baste!"1  muttered  the  young 
fellow,  as  he  hurriedly  dressed  himself. 

Then,  as  he  crossed  the  earthen  floor,  on  his  way  out,  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  little  note  pinned  to  the  wall.  It  was  very 
conspicuous,  the  light  from  the  open  doorway,  where 
there  was  no  door,  falling  full  upon  it.  It  had  an  uncanny 
look — almost  a  ghostly  look!  Indeed,  everything  had 


200  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

seemed  uncanny,  if  not  really  spectral,  since  Mike's  return 
to  his  cabin  on  the  evening  previous. 

Mike's  heart  went  down  "like  a  bucket  in  a  well,"  as  he 
described  it. 

He  went  and  took  down  that  note  and  read  it,  and  let  it 
drop  from  his  hands. 

"  Saints  av  Hivin !"  he  cried.  "  She's  bin  gone  ivir  since 
yistiddy  morning !  And  what  has  happened  till  her  in  the 
manetime  ?  Och !  Judy,  ye  have  bruck  the  harrt  av  me !  I 
must  folly  on  her  track  immadiate !  I  must !  I  must !" 

While  Mike  was — metaphorically — tearing  his  hair,  an 
old  miner  came  in  hurriedly,  exclaiming: 

"Judy,  darlint,  will  be  lind  me  the  loan  av  a  m 

Mither  av  Moses !  Mike  Man,  whativir  has  come  till  ye  ?" 
he  demanded,  cutting  short  his  request  at  the  sight  of  the 
young  man's  woe-begone  face. 

He — the  early  visitor — was  a  little  man,  with  freckled 
face,  very  blue  eyes  that  stared  so  that  white  circles  grew 
all  around  the  iris,  and  very  stiff  red  hair  that  now  stood 
nearly  on  end.  He  wore  a  red  shirt,  duck  trousers  and  the 
high  boots  of  the  miner. 

"Och!  Dandy!  Judy's  gone.  Me  swate  swishter's 
gone !"  cried  Mike,  striking  his  hands  together  in  despair. 

"Judy — gone! — whativer  do  you  mane,  Mike?"  de- 
manded the  puzzled  visitor. 

"She's  gone,  I  tell  ye!  Gone,  gone,  gone!  Och,  Sint 
Michael,  me  pathron !  that  ivir  I  should  see  the  day  an'  me 
swate  swishter  gone  !" 

"Judy  gone?  I  can't  belave  it!  Wherivir  did  she  go? 
And  'long  o'  who?"  demanded  the  bewildered  visitor. 

"  Och !  it  was  all  along  av  a  dhrame  as  have  turned  the 
head  av  her !" 

"A  dhrame?"  repeated  the  older  man. 

"Just  a  dhrame!  A  dhrame  that  sent  her  tearing  along 
the  trail  afther  Ran  Hay !" 

"The  Lord  betune  us  and  harrum !  Tell  me  all  about 
it,  Mike." 

"Thin  I  will,  Dandy,"  said  the  young  man. 

And  soothed  to  find  some  one  into  whose  ears  he  might 
pour  his  sorrows  and  perplexities,  Mike  told  the  story  of 
Judy's  dream  in  the  night  after  Kan's  departure;  of  how 
she  saw  him  in  her  dream,  lying  wounded  and  dying  alone 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  201 

in  the  wilderness ;  of  her  passionate  desire  to  follow  his  trail 
and  find  out  for  herself  whether  he  was  safe  or  not  safe; 
of  his  own  firm  opposition  to  her  wishes ;  of  her  apparent 
submission  to  his  will. 

"Whin  all  the  time,"  complained  Mike,  "the  poor, 
deluthed  and  misguided  craychur  was  hiding  in  her  harrt 
the  plan  to  lave  as  soon  as  me  hack  was  turrund !  Which 
she  did,  bad  luck  to  the  day  I" 

"And  this  same  happened  yistiddy  morning?"  ques- 
tioned the  visitor. 

"Yistiddy  morning  that  ivir  was!" 

"And  whin  did  ye  find  it  all  oot?" 

"Not  until  the  minit  before  you  came  in.  Yistiddy, 
when  I  left  the  house,  sure  I  thought  she  had  give  up  her 
wild-goose  chase!  And  all  the  time  she  was  plotting  to 
lave — the  artful  craychur !  Hivin  forgive  me  for  calling 
me  swate  Judy  sich  a  name !  And  I  wint  away  satisfied  in 
me  mind  and  stayed  all  day  at  the  shaft  along  wid  me  new 
pard  to  taiche  him  the  rin  av  the  wurruk,  seeing  he's  a 
granehorn.  Then,  as  the  divil  would  have  it,  instead  av 
coming  straight  home,  I  turned  into  'Ben's  Bower,'  and 
stayed,  carrying  on  with  the  bhoys,  because  for  one  thing  I 
was  half  afeard  to  come  home  to  Judy  to  find  her  still  fret- 
ting after  Ban.  And  so  I  stayed  till  tin  be  the  clock,  and 
thin,  when  I  come  home  and  called  Judy  and  she  didn't 
answer,  I  thought  she  had  gone  to  bed  and  gone  to  slape, 
especially  as  her  curtain  was  down.  Look!"  said  Mike, 
pointing  to  the  hanging  blanket. 

"Yis,  I'm  looking,"  replied  Dandy. 

"So  I  wint  to  bed  and  to  slape  with  a  continted  mind  in 
as  fine  a  fool's  paradise  as  ivir  ye  saw !  But  this  morning, 
whin  I  waked  up,  the  first  thing  that  stared  into  me  two 
looking  eyes  was  this  little  divil  pinned  till  the  wall.  Bade 
it,"  said  Mike,  stooping  and  picking  up  Judy's  note,  which 
he  had  dropped  on  the  floor. 

"Sure  ye  know  I  can't  rade  a  line  if  it  was  to  save  my 
sowl.  Bade  it  yourself,  Mike,"  said  Dandy. 

The  young  man  complied,  and  then  said,  with  a  gesture 
of  desperation : 

"  She's  gone !  She's  got  twinty-f our  hours  start  av  me ! 
But  I'm  afther  her  immadiately,  and  I  mane  to  folly  nor 
till  I  find  her,  dead  or  alive  I" 


202  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"And  sure,  sure,  I'm  wid  ye,  Mike,  me  bhoy.  I'm  wid  ye 
wid  all  the  harrt  and  sowl  that's  in  me,"  said  Andrew 
Quinn,  clapping  his  hand  into  that  of  Mike's. 

"  Oh,  Dandy !  You're  me  friend !"  faltered  the  boy,  al- 
most blubbering. 

"Not  a  bit  av  it !  Nivir  spake  av  it !"  exclaimed  Andrew, 
hardly  reckoning  the  meaning  of  his  words.  "And  sure 
I've  got  a  dooble-barrel  shotgun  with  the  longest  range 
in  the  counthry.  And  a  bludehound  that  can't  be  bett.  And 
we'll  start  immadiate." 

"  Oh,  Dandy !  You're  too  good  for  this  wurruld.,"  blub- 
bered poor  little  Mike,  fairly  broken  down  by  this  devo- 
tion. 

"And  why  not,  sure?"  demanded  Andrew,  without  ap- 
preciating the  meaning  of  his  own  words,  and  really  intend- 
ing to  deprecate  praise  rather  than  claim  it.  "Why  not? 
Why  wouldn't  I  go  along  wid  yer,  and  see  ye  through  your 
trubbel  ?  But,  me  bhoy,  you  haven't  had  your  brikfist." 

"Oh,  I  can't  ate  nothing,  nayther!"  cried  Mike. 

"Then,  you  sha'n't  have  to  cook  nothing.  But  we'll  lave 
this  immadiate  and  drop  into  Ben's  Bower,  where  ye  can 
always  get  a  bowl  av  sthrong  coffee  at  this  hour  av  the 
morning,  and  we'll  both  take  some.  Meself  has  had  no 
brikfist  yet.  Be  the  same  token  I  had  just  come  in  this 
morning  to  ask  Judy  to  lind  me  the  loan  av  a  match  to 
kindle  me  fire,  to  git  me  brikfist,  when  the  sight  av  your 
face  turned  me  upside  down  and  inside  out.  A  hot  brikfist 
and  hot,  sthrong  coffee  will  set  us  well  on  our  way,  and  that 
we  can  get  at  Ben's,"  said  Dandy. 

Mike  yielded,  then  he  hastily  tied  up  a  bundle,  took 
down  a  shotgun  from  its  rest,  put  on  his  hat,  and  said : 

"I'm  riddy !" 

"Then  rin  on  to  Ben's,  and  I'll  jine  ye  in  a  jiffy.  I've 
just  to  dhrop  into  me  shanty  and  get  me  dog  and  gun,"  said 
old  Andrew. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  the  two  men,  having  breakfasted 
at  Ben's  and  spread  the  news  of  Judy's  flight  among  all  the 
early  customers,  set  out  on  their  journey  through  the 
wilderness,  each  armed  with  a  gun,  provided  with  food,  and 
preceded  by  the  bloodhound — not  a  great,  powerful  animal 
like  Judy's  Russian,  but  a  little  dog  with  a  large  head  and 
scent  so  keen  that  his  master  described  him  as  "all  schent." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  203 

They  walked  on  through  the  dewy  morning,  every  mile 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  depths  of  the  wilderness. 

Mike,  in  his  anxiety  and  impatience,  would  have  hurried 
on  at  his  utmost  speed,  but  old  Andrew  restrained  him. 

"Sure,  bhoy,  if  we  be  to  thravel  all  day,  we'll  get  over 
more  ground  by  taking  av  it  aisy,  nor  if  we  pit  ourselves 
out  o'  breath  be  hurrying  first  off ;  and,  more  betoken,  if  ye 
go  at  this  rate,  ye'll  have  to  lave  me  behind,"  panted  the 
old  man,  trying  to  keep  up  with  his  young  companion. 

"Av  coorse,  ye  are  right,  Dandy,  and  I  ask  yer  pardon. 
The  divil's  in  me,  I  belave,"  said  Mike,  slackening  his  pace. 

But,  withalj  they  made  such  good  progress  that  at  eleven 
o'clock  they  reached  the  spot  where  Judy  and  Tip  had 
stopped  at  noon  to  rest  and  take  their  midday  meal. 

The  two  men  would  have  passed  the  spot  without 
noticing  anything,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  little  dog, 
Lion,  who  ran  all  in  and  out  among  the  low  brush,  snuffing 
along  the  ground,  whimpering,  after  the  manner  of  his 
kind. 

"She  stopped  here!  As  sure's  ye're  born,  she  stopped 
here.  Sure  the  schent  will  lay  longer,  and  be  a  dale 
sthronger,  on  the  spot  where  she  sat  down  to  rist,  maybe  for 
hours,  than  it  will  on  the  road  she  early  passed  along,"  said 
old  Andrew. 

And  though  both  the  men  knew  that  it  was  of  no  use  to 
look  for  her  there,  yet  they  turned  aside  from  the  trail  to 
search  for  traces  of  the  fugitive. 

They  found  none.  Even  the  young  spring  herbage  upon 
which  she  had  sat  while  taking  her  lunch  had  recovered  its 
elasticity,  and  stood  up. 

The  travelers  passed  on,  now  unwillingly  followed  by  the 
dog.  They  walked  on  until  the  position  of  the  sun,  as 
well  as  the  emptiness  of  their  stomachs,  warned  them  that 
it  was  noon,  and  time  to  rest  and  to  eat. 

They  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  thicket,  and  opened 
their  wallets,  and  feasted  on  bacon  and  bread,  whisky  and 
cold  tea;  feeding  the  dog  as  plentifully  as  they  fed  them- 
selves. 

They  took  but  fifteen  minutes'  rest,  and  started  again. 
They  made  faster  progress  than  Judy  had  been  able  to 
make,  for  it  was  now  but  two  o'clock  when  they  reached  the 
hollow  oak  tree  where  the  girl  had  passed  the  night. 


204  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Here  Lion  set  up  a  most  woeful  whimpering,  circling 
around  the  tree  in  quick  runs,  and  finally  pawing  at  the 
trunk. 

"She's  been  here,  as  sure  as  shooting!"  said  Mike,  and 
they  began  to  investigate  the  spot,  looking  even  into  the 
hollow  tree;  but  they  saw  nothing. 

"It's  mortifyin'  to  the  natur'  av  man,  so  it  is,  that  the 
brute  creation  can  find  signs  where  the  human  can't,"  said 
Andrew,  as  they  left  the  tree  and  walked  on,  followed  by 
the  dog. 

They  trudged  on  perseveringly  all  through  the  afternoon 
until  the  sun  was  sinking  low  and  the  shadows  were  grow- 
ing dark  in  the  forest. 

"Sure,  Mike,  me  bhoy,  I'm  'feared  I'll  have  soon  to  gin 
up  and  rest.  I  can  hardly  drag  one  hale  afther  the  other," 
complained  old  Andrew. 

"Och,  thin,  Dandy,  I  was  a  baste  to  accipt  yer  offer  at  all. 
Yer  too  ould  for  this  wurruk,  Dandy,"  replied  Mike. 

"Nivir  a  bit!  Nivir  a  bit!"  exclaimed  the  old  fellow, 
getting  up  his  mettle  and  straightening  himself.  "I  can 
kape  it  oop  as  long  as  you  can,  me  bowld  bhoy." 

At  this  moment  the  dog  showed  strange  signs  of  dis- 
turbance, cried,  whined,  whimpered,  ran  up  and  down  on 
one  side  of  the  road,  and  nosed  on  the  thicket. 

"Whativir  is  the  matther  wid  the  baste  now?"  inquired 
Mike. 

"Divil  a  bit  av  me  knows.  It's  something  out  av  the 
common,  be  the  same  token,"  replied  old  Andrew. 

As  he  spoke  the  dog  suddenly  dashed  into  the  thicket. 

"He's  afther  something.  Come!"  exclaimed  Mike;  and 
he  sprang  after  the  dog,  crashing  through  the  undergrowth, 
regardless  of  tearing  clothes  or  skin. 

Old  Andrew  followed  more  carefully. 

Mike  plunged  and  crushed  on,  guided  only  by  the  voice  of 
the  hound,  until,  torn,  scratched  and  bleeding,  he  reached 
a  small  opening  in  the  forest,  where  a  camp  fire  had  smold- 
ered out  to  cold  brands,  and  where  the  hound  lay  across 
something,  with  his  head  in  the  air,  howling  hideously. 

Mike  drew  near  and  looked  down,  and  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  horror. 

"Hooly  mither  av  saints  diffind  us !  Hooly  Saint  Father, 
pray  for  us!  Oh,  Dandy!  Dandy!  Come  here,  man!" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  205 

pleaded  Mike.  And  he  continued  to  invoke  all  the  saints, 
while  old  Andrew  slowly  stumbled  through  the  close  thicket. 

"And  what  in  the  divil  is  it  at  all?  The  dog  howling 
and  you  screeching!"  growled  the  old  man,  as  he  came  into 
view. 

"Look!  Look!"  cried  Mike,  unable  to  do  more  than  to 
point  at  the  dead  fire  and  the  group  beside  it, 

Dandy  looked,  and  his  red  hair  slowly  raised  on  end, 
while  the  white  circles  grew  around  the  iris  of  his  dilated, 
staring  eyes. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  picture  to  congeal  the  blood  of  the 
spectator. 

The  setting  sun  glancing  through  a  rift  in  the  forest 
shone  upon  the  dead  fire,  upon  the  wailing  dog,  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  and  upon  the  dead  body  of  a  man,  naked, 
and  mutilated  beyond  all  recognition. 

Old  Andrew  sat  down  on  the  ground,  more  exhausted 
by  horror  than  by  fatigue.  He  drew  his  whisky  flask  from 
his  pocket  and  reached  it  out  to  Mike,  gasping : 

"There,  bhoy:  Take  it!  Dhrink,  and  put  some  sowl 
into  yourself." 

"No.  Dhrink  first,  Dandy,  and  take  a  good  pull  while 
you're  at  it  Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  Lord !"  cried^Mike. 

Old  Andrew  put  the  flask  to  his  lips,  and  only  took  it 
away  to  get  his  breath.  Then  he  handed  it  to  Mike,  who 
followed  his  example. 

Still,  a  few  minutes  passed  before  the  men  ventured  to 
speak  of  what  lay  before  them. 

"Och,  sure,  it  will  nivir  be  Ran,  and  the  dhrame  come 
true !" 

"Hivin  be  praised,  no !  It's  none  av  Ran !  It's  taller  by 
a  head  nor  Ran.  It's  the  lavings  of  a  tall  man,  that 
same  is !" 

"Might  it  be  Gintleman  Geff?" 

"Yes,  indade  it  might;  but  if  it  be,  where  is  Ran?  And, 
och !  where  is  Judy  ?" 

"Ah,  sure,  where  is  they?  But  it  .mayn't  be  Gintleman 
Geff." 

"No,  is  mayn't.  Or  it  may.  And  Lord  betune  us  and 
harrum,  whose  wurruk  is  it  ?  What  do  ye  think,  Dandy  ?" 
asked  Mike. 

"I  think  as  some  Injun  or  some  other  ruffian  kilt  him, 


206  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

and  robbed  him,  and  stripped  him,  and  left  him  here ;  and 
I  think  the  wolves  finished  him.  That's  what  I  think !" 

"Shall  we  bury  it?" 

"Will  we  dig  a  grave  wid  oor  tin  fingers,  thin  ?" 

"Oh,  sure,  I  forgot.    But  what  will  we  do  ?" 

"Eist  a  while;  thin  go  on.  No;  thin  take  another  pull 
at  the  flask  to  stringthin  us,  and  thin  go  on." 

"That's  so/'  agreed  Mike. 

"Here,  Lion,  ye  fool  baste !  What  the  divil  do  ye  mane 
be  kaping  up  that  row,  whin  there's  no  more  needcissity 
for  it  ?  Come  here,  sir !"  called  old  Andrew. 

The  dog  came  and  crouched  at  his  feet. 

"Now  we  will  go  on,"  said  the  man,  rising  when  he 
thought  they  had  sufficiently  rested. 

And  the  two  men,  followed  by  the  dog,  made  their  way 
through  the  thicket  back  to  the  trail,  and  continued  their 
journey. 

"Longman's  can't  be  very  far  from  here,"  said  Andrew. 
" We'll  go  there.  Maybe  hell  be  able  to  tell  us  some  news 
av  Ran  or  Judy,  or  maybe  both !  And  we  will  tell  him  what 
we  have  found,  and  take  counsel  wid  him  what's  best  to  do." 

They  walked  on  valiantly  until  it  grew  dark,  then  they 
lighted  their  lanterns  and  continued  to  walk  for  an  hour 
longer. 

Then  suddenly  they  iieard  a  voice  singing  out: 

"Hello!" 

"Hello,  yourself !"  shouted  back  the  loud  voice  of  Mike. 

The  dog  had  begun  to  bark  furiously. 

"Be  quiet,  you  baste!"  cried  Andrew,  collaring  him. 

"I  see  your  light!  Who  are  yon?"  shouted  the  voice  of 
the  invisible  stranger. 

"Andrew  Quin,  at  your  sarvice,  and  No-Man's  Mike!" 
squeaked  old  Dandy,  answering  for  the  first  time. 

"And  I  am  Longman,"  responded  the  stranger. 

"Och,  Misther  Longman  is  it,  bliss  the  harrt  av  ye! 
Come  along  wid  yourself  and  let's  see  the  face  av  ye !  Be 
quiet,  Lion,  ye  baste,  or  I'll  choke  ye !" 

Longman's  steps  were  now  heard,  crunching  through  the 
thicket,  and  presently  he  came  out  on  the  road,  and  stood 
before  them — a  powerful,  gigantic  hunter. 

"Sure,  though  we  nivir  saw  the  face  av  ye,  the  fame  av 
ye  has "  began  Andrew. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  207 

But  Mike's  impetuous  anxiety  cut  him  short  with  : 

"Och,  Misther  Longman!  Can  ye  give  a  poor,  harrt- 
broken  bhoy  any  news  av  his  poor  swishtev,  who " 

Longman  answered  promptly,  without  waiting  for  him. 
to  finish  his  question: 

"Miss  Judy  is  safe  and  well  at  the  fort.  I  left  her  sit- 
ting by  the  bedside  of  Ran  Hay,  who  was  found  lying  in 
the  woods  badly  wounded,  and  conveyed  to  the  hospital, 
but  he  is  doing  well  now." 

"  Thin  glory  be  to  the  Lord !  And  her  dhrame  was  thrue, 
after  all !"  piously  ejaculated  Mike. 

"Come  along  with  me  to  my  lodge,  both  of  you,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  can  go  to  the  fort  in  the 
morning,  and  see  your  sister  and  your  friend.  It  is  too  late 
to  go  there  to-night.  You  could  not  be  admitted  " 

"Glory  be  to  aH  the  saints  in  hivin !"  exclaimed  Mike, 
who  felt  as  if  he  could  not  be  too  thankful  for  the  safety  of 
Ean  and  Judy. 

Then,  with  some  compunction  for  his  forgetfulness,  he 
inquired  : 

"And  what  av  the  gintleman  who  thraveled  in  company 
with  Misther  Hay?" 

"Gentleman  Geff?" 

"Yis,  that  same?" 

"He  has  not  been  seen  nor  heard  of  since  Hay  was 
brought  in." 

"Thin,  bedad,  what's  left  av  the  poor  fellow  is  lying  oot 
yander  in  the  deep  woods,"  said  Mike. 

"What !"  exclaimed  the  hunter. 

"It's  thruth  I'm  telling  you!"  gravely  replied  Mike. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

REVEILLE  ! 

AT  SUNRISE  the  alarm  of  drums  beating  the  reveille 
roused  Judy  from  a  deep,  deep  sleep. 

She  jumped  out  of  bed  and  stood  bewildered  in  the 
pretty  little  bower,  where  the  tender  morning  light,  shining 
through  pink  shades  upon  pink  walls,  made  a  lovely  rosy 
atmosphere. 


208  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

For  a  moment  Judy  was  lost  in  amazement,  and  with 
the  loud  noise  of  the  drums  in  her  ears  and  the  rosy  air 
around  her  she  had  a  vague  impression  that  she  had  been 
blown  up  in  an  explosion,  and  had  'landed'*'  in  paradise. 

The  next  moment  she  remembered  where  she  was;  but 
thought  the  noise  outside  meant  an  attack  by  the  Indians. 

Frightened  half  to  death,  she  leaned  across  her  bed  and 
drew  aside  the  curtain  which  was  behind  it,  and  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

What  she  saw  quite  reassured  her.  The  soldiers  were 
mustering  for  the  morning  parade. 

Judy  knew  nothing  of  reveilles  or  parades ;  but  she  knew 
that  this  spectacle  was  not  a  battle ;  that  was  all,  but  it  con- 
tented her. 

Before  she  dressed  herself,  she  made  up  her  pretty  bed 
and  festooned  the  pink  mosquito  net  and  window  curtains. 

Then  she  washed  her  face  and  hands,  combed  her  curly 
black  hair,  and  put  on  her  red  linsey  skirt  and  black  cloth 
jacket.  Lastly,  she  set  the  little  washstand  in  order  and 
left  the  room,  which  opened  upon  the  common  hall  of  the 
house.  Here  she  found  all  the  younger  children  of  the 
colonel  at  their  games;  and  unkempt  little  savages  they 
looked  at  first  sight,  for  they  were  permitted  to  engage  with 
perfect  freedom  in  all  outdoor  as  well  as  indoor  romps  and 
sports  that  tended  to  healthy  physical  development. 

Judy  courtesied  to  the  young  ones.  Were  they  not  the 
colonel's  children,  and  was  not  the  colonel  an  awfully  great 
man? 

They  stopped  their  play,  stared  at  her,  laughed  and  said  : 

"  Good-morning." 

A  door  opened  on  the  right,  and  an  orderly  appeared, 
and  called  the  children  in  to  breakfast. 

They  all  dropped  hoops,  skipping  ropes,  dumb-bells  and 
other  tools,  and  followed  the  soldier. 

The  hall  was  empty  of  all  except  Judy,  who  was  left 
alone. 

She  sat  down  on  a  wooden  chair,  because  she  was  at  a 
loss  to  know  what  else  to  do. 

But  only  for  a  moment;  for  in  that  time  Mrs.  Moseley 
came  through  the  same  door,  looked  about  as  if  in  search 
of  somebody,  and  seeing  Judy,  went  to  her  and  took  her 
ihand,  saying: 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  209 

"Come,  child !  come  in  to  breakfast.  I  did  not  know  you 
were  up  until  Madge  and  Mell  told  me  there  was  'a.  big  girl 
in  the  hall/  I  thought  you  would  have  slept  later." 

"It  was  the  dhrums,  ma'am/'  said  Judy. 

"Ah,  yes !    I  understand.    Come !" 

"Oh,  if  you  plaise,  ma'am,  could  ye  tell  me  how  Ran  is 
the  morn?" 

"There  has  come  no  report  from  the  surgeon  yet,  but  I 
will  send  and  inquire." 

"Oh,  if  you  plaise,  ma'am,  would  ye  kindly  lave  me  rin 
over  there  and  see  for  meself  ?" 

"After  you  have  had  breakfast;  child;  not  before,"  said 
the  lady,  as  she  held  the  girl's  hand,  leading  her  toward  the 
door  through  which  all  the  children  had  passed. 

They  went  into  a  room  where  stood  a  long  table,  which, 
with  the  twelve  chairs  at  the  side,  and  the  two  at  head  and 
foot,  took  up  nearly  all  the  space.  And  every  chair  but 
three  was  filled  by  a  girl  or  boy  of  the  colonel's  numerous 
family. 

But  the  colonel  himself  was  not  present.  Judy,  with  un- 
conventional frankness,  looked  up  and  down  for  him  in 
vain  and  felt  disappointed  at  not  seeing  Mm;  it  was  like 
missing  a  sight  of  the  President. 

Then  she  looked  inquiringly  into  the  face  of  her  hostess. 

"The  colonel  is  not  with  us  this  morning  He  took  an 
early  cup  of  coffee  and  started  to  ride  to  the  Nez  Percez 
Agency,  and  will  not  return  until  night.  I'm  glad  you  miss 
the  colonel,  child.  It  shows  a  good  heart/'  said  Mrs.  Mose- 
ley,  smiling  and  patting  the  girl  on  the  head.  "There,  sit 
down  there  by  Teddy  and  lie  will  see  to  you,"  she  added, 
touching  a  vacant  chair  next  to  her  twelve-year-old  son. 

Judy  smiled  and  blushed,  and  seated  herself. 

However  rough  the  colonel's  boys  might  be  at  their 
games,  they  were  perfect  little  gentlemen  at  table,  and 
"Teddy,"  otherwise  Master  Edward  Moscley,  served  the 
young  Irish  girl  with  as  much  politeness  as  if  she  had  been 
a  princess. 

While  they  were  still  at  table,  the  orderly,  whom  Mrs. 
Moseley  had  sent  to  the  hospital  to  inquire  after  the  con- 
dition of  Randolph  Hay,  returned  with  the  news  that  the 
wounded  man  was  doing  very  well — information  that  was 
.vague,  but  satisfactory. 


210  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

When  breakfast  was  over,  Judy  put  on  her  hat  and  pre- 
pared to  start  for  the  hospital. 

"I  will  go  with  you,  child/'  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  as  she 
took  her  own  garden  hat  from  its  peg  on  the  wall  and  joined 
the  girl. 

It  was  a  glorious  spring  morning  and  the  ground  within 
the  wall  of  the  fort  was  beautiful,  the  grass  was  green  and 
fresh,  tulips,  hyacinths,  jonquils,  daffodils  and  other  spring 
flowers  were  blooming  in  the  parterre  where  they  were  care- 
fully cultivated  by  the  soldiers. 

Mrs.  Moseley  and  her  little  companion  walked  along  the 
gravel  path  that  led  from  the  colonel's  quarters  to  the  hos- 
pital, talking  as  they  went. 

"Is  it  certain  that  this  young  man  Hay  is  heir  to  that 
great  English  estate  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"He's  a  dale  more'n  that,  ma'am.  He's  the  very  nixt  av 
kin  to  that  same  estate !"  said  Judy,  with  pride  in  every 
tone  of  her  voice  and  look  of  her  face. 

They  reached  the  hospital  and  were  met  by  the  surgeon. 

"Better !  Much  better,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  in  answer 
to  Mrs.  Moseley's  inquiry,  as  to  the  health  of  his  patient 

And  the  doctor  led  the  way  to  the  ward  where  Ean  1*  y. 

As  the  three  approached  his  bed,  and  stood  beside  him, 
the  young  man  opened  his  eyes,  stared  a  moment,  and  then 
murmured  vaguely: 

"Why— it's—  Judy !" 

"Oh !  glory  be  to  the  Lord !  he  knows  me !"  exclaimed  the 
excited  girl,  ready  to  cry  with  joy. 

"Keep  quiet;  keep  quiet,"  whispered  the  surgeon. 

"But,  sure,  mayn't  I  spake  to  him?"  breathlessly  de- 
manded the  girl. 

"Yes,  but  gently,  gently,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Ean,  darlint,  ye  do  know  me,  don't  ye  now?"  she  in- 
quired, coaxingly. 

"Why,  yes — you  are  Judy.  But "  said  the  youth; 

and  then  he  paused,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"What  is  it,  Ran,  dear?" 

"I — don't  know.  But — how  came  you  here  in  the  woods, 
Judy  ?  And  it  is  daylight,  too.  It  was  dark  just  now.  And 
here  are  strangers.  But  I  don't  see  Gentleman  Geff.  It  is 
all — very  strange.  I  don't — I  can't — I  give  it  up.  I — I 
give — up  the  conundrum." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  211 

And,  with  one  of  liis  old  piquant  smiles,  Ran  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall,  and  from  very  exhaustion  suddenly  fell 
asleep. 

"It  is  all  right/'  said  the  surgeon,  with  a  smile.  "Sit  by 
him  as  you  did  yesterday.  Let  him  see  you  again  when  he 
wakes,  and  give  a  sign  to  Peter  at  the  door  to  bring  him  the 
beef  tea  which  Mrs.  Moseley  will  kindly  have  ready  for  him. 
He  will  not  be  so  surprised  to  see  you  again  as  at  first  he 
was.  He  will  be  more  able  to  realize  the  change  in  his  sur- 
soundings,  and  to  learn  all  that  has  happened  to  him,  and, 
perhaps,  to  give  us  some  clew  to  the  identity  of  his  as- 
sailant." 

"Then  I  may  spake  with  him  as  much  as  I  plaise  ?"  asked 
Judy. 

"Not  at  all.  By  no  means.  As  soon  as  Hay  wakes  you 
must  call  Peter  to  bring  his  food,  and,  when  he  has  brought 
it,  send  him  for  me.  I  will  come  and  see  the  boy,  and  be 
able  to  tell  whether  you  may  talk  to  him  or  not.  Now  be 
a  faithful  nurse,  and  mind  my  words.'' 

"Sure,  I'll  rimimber  iviry  word  ye  ivir  did  spake  till  me 
in  yer  life.  And  why  wouldn't  I,  sir,  and  ye  sich  a  friend 
to  Ran?  Bless  ye,  sir!"  said  Judy. 

"That  will  do.  That  will  do,  my  good  girl,"  said  the 
surgeon,  laughing. 

"Good-by,  Judy,  until  dinner  time.  We  always  have  din- 
ner in  the  middle  of  the  day,  for  the  children's  sake  At 
two  o'clock,  Judy.  You.  know  the  way  over  to  our  quarters 
now,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  punctual,"  said  Mrs. 
Moseley,  turning  to  leave  the  ward. 

"Sure,  ma'am,  it's  me  guardian  angel  come  doon  to  the 
earth,  ye  must  be ! — that  good  that  ye  are  to  me !"  replied 
the  girl. 

The  lady  smiled  and  waved  her  hand  in  deprecation  of 
all  this  praise  and  walked  away,  followed  by  the  surgeon. 

"Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Mcseley,  when  they  had  left  the  hos- 
pital and  were  crossing  the  grounds  leading  to  the  colonel's 
quarters,  "is  this  young  man  really  going  to  recover  ?" 

"Eeally,  so  far  as  medical  experience  and  human  fore- 
sight can  judge  and  predict." 

"Kecover  both  health  and  reason,  doctor?" 
.     "Both,  so  far  as  I  see.    There  is  as  good  reason  to  believe 


212  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

that  he  will  be  sound  in  mind  and  body  a  month  hence  as 
that  anyone  will  be." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  girl?"  rather  abruptly  de- 
manded the  lady. 

"She  is  a  good,  true,  brave  child.  If  she  were  only 
trained  and  cultured,  she  would  make  a  noble,  brilliant 
woman." 

"How  much  do  you  know  about  her,  doctor  ?" 

"Very  little.  Nothing  but  what  she  herself  has  told  me, 
and  her  frank,  truthful  face  and  manner  have  indorsed — 
that  this  youth,  Hay,  and  her  brother,  Michael,  were  part- 
ners in  a  mining  camp ;  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Hay;  that  on  the  second  of  April  Hay  started,  with  a 
companion,  to  tramp  from  Grizzly  to  San  Francisco,  on 
business,  and  that  she,  having  been  frightened  by,  or — as 
she  put  it — 'warned  in  a  dhrame,'  she  started  in  pursuit  of 
him,  tramped  a  day  and  night,  and  part  of  another  day, 
and  met  with  Longman,  who  told  her  where  her  friend  was 
lying  wounded,  and  brought  her  to  the  fort.  That  is  all 
I  know  of  the  brave  child." 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  more  than  that,  both  from  her  own 
story,  which  she  has  told  in  detail  to  me,  and  also  from  my 
previous  knowledge  of  this  young  Hay,  and  of  which  I 
spoke  to  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  boy." 

"Yes,  I  remember.    What  is  her  story  ?" 

"Come  in,  if  you  can  spare  the  time,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Of  course  I  can  spare  the  time.  My  office  here,  in  this 
healthy  climate,  and  in  these  peaceful  times,  is  almost  a 
sinecure.  If  it  were  not  for  an  occasional  broken  head,  the 
result  of  a  row  among  the  outside  barbarians,  or  an  attack 
of  bile,  the  result — let  us  say,  to  put  it  charitably — of  a  late 
supper  among  our  own  brave  boys,  I  really  should  not  have 
practice  enough  to  keep  my  hand  in;  and  'my  right  hand 
would  forget  its  cunning/  " 

They  had  now  reached  the  colonel's  quarters. 

"Let  us  sit  here  on  the  piazza;  it  is  very  warm  for  the 
season.  Find  a  seat  for  yourself,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Mose- 
ley,  dropping  into  one  of  the  Quaker  chairs,  and  beginning 
to  fan  herself  with  her  straw  hat,  which  she  had  taken  off 
for  the  purpose. 

When  the  two  were  finally  seated,  Mrs.  Moseley  turned  to 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  gig 

h,  group  of  her  children,  who  were  conning  their  schoolbooka 
in  the  opposite  end  of  the  long  porch,  and  said : 

"Gery,  take  the  little  ones  in,  and  hear  them  recite  their 
lessons.  Nance,  go  fetch  me  my  workbasket  and  Polly's 
new  frock,  that  you  will  find  cut  out  and  rolled  up  in  the 
lower  bureau  drawer." 

Nance,  otherwise  Miss  Anna  Moseley,  and  Gery,  other- 
wise Master  Gerald  Moseley,  went  on  their  errands,  fol- 
lowed by  the  children. 

"If  I  were  you,  Mrs.  Moseley,  I  should  have  to  call  the 
roll  every  day  to  be  sure  that  all  the  children  were  on  the 
premises,"  said  Dr.  Hill. 

"A  long  roll  call,  is  it  not,  doctor  ?"  But  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  Mrs.  Moseley  turned  to  her  eldest  daughter, 
who  had  just  returned  with  a  large  workbasket  in  one 
hand,  and  a  roll  of  red  calico  in  the  other. 

"Now,  go,  dear,  and  study  your  French  lesson;  I  will 
hear  you  when  I  come  in — that  is,  if  you  should  be  ready," 
added  the  mother,  as  she  took  the  articles  from  the  hands 
of  the  daughter,  who  immediately  returned  into  the  house. 

"She  is  studying  French,  then?"  said  the  dictor. 

"Yes;  with  what  help  I  can  give  her.  Of  course,  I  can- 
not pretend  to  give  her  the  Parisian  accent.  Some  day 
I  hope  she  may  have  a  French  mistress,  but  we  cannot  pro- 
vide her  with  one  out  here,  and  we  will  not  send  one  of  our 
girls  from  rfiome  for  education  " 

"I  think  you  are  quite  right,  Mrs.  Moseley." 

"But  now  for  my  story;  and  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me 
if  I  sew  while  I  talk.  I  can  baste  these  seams  for  the  ma- 
chine, and  even  work  the  buttonholes,  out  here." 

"Why,  certainly." 

The  lady  unrolled  her  work,  but  before  she  could  begin 
her  narrative,  another  of  her  girls  came  running  up  from 
the  lawn. 

"Well,  Matty,  what  is  it,  love?" 

"Oh !  mamma,  dear,  Will  has  just  brought  in  a  squaw 
with  a  whole  basketful  of  wild  strawberries  to  sell !  There 
must  be  half  a  peck  of  them,  at  least,  and  all  for  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar !  But  Reub  says  they  are  not  ripe/',  exclaimed 
the  panting  girl. 

"They  cannot  be  fully  ripe  so  early  in  the  season,  but 


214  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

they  may  do  to  stew  for  tarts.  I'll  go  and  see.  Excuse  me, 
doctor." 

And  the  lady  went  off  to  interview  the  squaw. 

In  about  fifteen  minutes  she  returned.,  resumed  her  seat, 
took  up  her  work,  and  said : 

"Now  at  length  I  am  ready." 

"And  I  am  all  attention/'  said  the  doctor. 

And  then  the  lady  told  the  story  of  Ran  Hay,  in  all  its 
details,  as  it  is  already  known  to  the  readers. 

"Now  so  much  for  young  Hay.  I  knew  him  when  he  was 
an  infant,  and  I  recognized  him  as  soon  as  I  saw  him  by  the 
extreme  peculiarity  of  his  Castilian  beauty." 

"But,  my  dear  lady,  you  promised  to  tell  me  about  Judy," 
said  the  surgeon. 

"I  am  coming  to  her  presently.  The  girl  interests  me 
chiefly  in  her  relation  to  the  boy.  It  is  young  Hay's  identity, 
position  and  prospects  that  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you.  He 
is  next  of  kin  to  the  late  Squire  John  Haywood  Hay,  of 
Haymore,  and  the  heir-at-law  of  his  vast  estates ;  and  I — I 
can  prove  the  identity  of  the  boy,  if  this  should  ever  be 
called  in  question." 

"I  see.    But  now  as  to  Judy  ?" 

"Now,  as  to  Judy.  You  are  aware  that  she  is  a  girl  of 
the  humblest  origin?" 

"Yes/' 

"But  you  are  not  aware  that  she  is  of  unknown  parent- 
age— in  fact,  a  foundling  who  was  left,  with  her  twin 
brother,  at  the  gate  of  the  Infant  Home  of  the  Holy  Ma- 
ternity, in  Sacramento." 

"No,  I  was  not,"  said  the  doctor,  very  gravely. 

"Neither  she  nor  her  brother  have  had  any  education 
beyond  what  the  charity  schools  connected  with  the  par- 
ishes give  to  the  destitute  children." 

"I  see  that  the  girl  is  utterly  uncultivated." 

"Now,  then,  to  the  point.  The  colonel  and  myself,  and 
you,  also,  doctor,  hold  rather  responsible  positions  toward 
this  boy  and  girl.  The  boy,  as  the  heir  of  a  great  estate, 
will  occupy  a  very  high  position  in  society.  The  girl  is 
poor,  humble  and  ignorant.  And  yet  they  are  engaged  to 
be  married." 

"Well,  my  dear  lady,  we  are  neither  their  parents  nor 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  215 

their  guardians.  We  have  no  sort  of  right  to  prevent  them," 
said  the  surgeon. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  do  so,  for  I  think  if  poor 
little  Judy  were  to  be  torn  from  her  lover  it  would  kill 
her." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  doctor.  "She  is  physically  too 
strong  and  sturdy.  But  I  am  not  so  sure  it  would  not  turn 
her  brain.  She  is  just  of  the  temperament  to  go  crazy  for 
love.  Mrs.  Moseley,  we  cannot  interfere  just  now.  You 
did  a  kind,  womnaly  part  when  you  threw  the  shield  of 
your  position  here  over  that  girl,  and  protected  her  in  her 
ministrations  to  her  wounded  lover.  No  one  will  dare  to 
criticise  your  protegee." 

"I  hope  not.  And  yet  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  done 
well.  Every  day  that  poor  girl  sits  at  the  bedside  of  her 
wounded  lover  will  rivet  her  heart  with  stronger  bonds  to 
him.  And  if  he  should  not  be  true  to  her !  How  great  his 
temptations  to  throw  her  off  in  his  new  position  will  bel 
And  that  would  drive  her  mad,  doctor." 

"Well,  ma'am?" 

"I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"Anything  for  you,  Mrs.  Moseley." 

"It  is  in  the  interests  of  that  young  pair  that  I  ask  this/' 

"Well,  Mrs.  Moseley?" 

"I  want  you  to  watch  him  in  his  intercourse  with  his 
young  nurse.  See  if  he  is  really,  truly,  deeply  attached  to 
her,  as  she  is  to  him.  See,  also,  if  he  has  the  true  ring  of 
pure  affection  and  honest  constancy  in  him.  You  can  find 
out." 

"Well,  and  then?    If  I  should  find  him  all  right?" 

"In  that  case,  just  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  answer  for  him- 
self, we  will  have  the  young  pair  married  by  our  chaplain." 

"Mrs.  Moseley !"  exclaimed  the  surgeon,  in  amazement. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Why,  they  are  so  young.  They  ought  both  to  be  at 
school." 

"Well,  and  so  they  shall  be.  It  was  his  plan,  poor  boy,  on 
coming  into  his  estates,  to  put  her  to  school  and  go  him- 
self to  college.  That  plan  need  not  be  interrupted.  Let 
them  have  the  marriage  ceremony  performed;  If  they 
love  each  other,  as  I  am  sure  they  do,  they  will  feel  hap- 
pier and  more  secure  to  know  that  they  are  bound  to  each 


216  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

other  irrevocably.  Then  he  can  go  into  college  and  she  into 
a  lady's  school,  or,  what  in  her  case  would  be  better,  she 
could  have  a  private  governess." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Moseley,  this  is  all  so  strange  to  me  that  I 
do  not  know  what  to  say  to  it." 

"Well,  then,  think  about  it,  and  when  the  idea  becomes 
familiar  to  you,  you  will  think  better  of  it." 

"Possibly,"  said  the  surgeon,  still  in  doubt. 

One  of  the  lads  now  came  hastily  from  the  house. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Clin?"  inquired  the  mother  of 
many. 

"Mamma,  dear,  won^t  you  please  come  and  settle  Kit? 
She  won't  study  her  books,  nor  let  any  one  else  study  theirs. 
She  keeps  on  teasing  Tom,"  said  Clin,  otherwise  Master 
Clinton  Moseley. 

"Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  dear  !  Will  you  excuse  me,  doctor  ?"  in- 
quired the  lady,  with  a  smile. 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Moseley.  I  have  taken  up  too  much  of 
your  valuable  time  already,"  said  the  surgeon,  with  a  bow. 

The  lady  re-entered  the  house. 

And  the  surgeon  sauntered  off  toward  the  hospital. 

Meanwhile,  Judy  sat  watching  by  the  side  of  her  sleep- 
ing lover,  and  wishing  that  she  had  brought  her  knitting 
with  her  from  Grizzly ;  for  now  that  her  mind  was  relieved 
from  all  anxiety  on  Ean's  account  the  industrious  girl 
found  it  unutterably  wearisome  to  sit  still  for  hours  and 
do  nothing. 

Two  hours,  that  seemed  two  days  to  Judy,  passed  before 
Ean  stirred.  Then  he  turned  his  head,  opened  his  eyes, 
and  stared  at  the  watcher  by  his  side,  and  muttered  slowly : 

"Why — there  she  is — again  !" 

"Yis,  Ean,  darlint.  Here  I  be  ag'en,  and  here  I've  been 
all  the  time.  And  ye  know  me,  Ean,  dear.  Tell  me  ye 
know  your  own,  own  gurii!"  she  said,  softly,  bending  over 
him. 

"Surely,  I  know  my  Judy,"  he  answered,  slow!}7,  raising 
his  hand  feebly,  and  passing  his  fingers  over  his  forehead 
with  a  perplexed  look. 

"I'll  lave  ye  a  minit,  Ean,  darlint,  to  git  ye  something  to 
ate.  I'll  not  be  gone  a  rninit,  aither,"  said  Judy,  rising 
to  go. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  217 

But  a  feeble  hand  stretched  out,  and  a  feeble  tone  of  en- 
treaty detained  her. 

"Don't  leave  me,  Judy.    I  am — so — confused." 

"Thin  I  won't  lave  the  room  at  all,  Ran.  I'll  only  go 
to  the  door  and  call  the  man,"  said  Judy,  soothingly. 

"What  man  ?  I — I  know  nothing — not  even  where  I  am 
— nor — how  I  came  here,"  muttered  Ran,  looking  wearily 
around  him,  and  of  course  recognizing  nothing  that  he  saw 
except  the  face  and  form  of  Judy. 

But  the  girl  had  slipped  to  the  door  and  spoken  about 
half  a  dozen  words  to  old  Peter. 

"Fetch  the  bafe  tay  and  the  docther." 

And  she  slipped  back  to  the  bedside  almost  before  Ran 
had  missed  her. 

"Judy?"  he  whispered. 

"Yis,  darlint." 

"Take  hold  of  my  hand.    Squeeze  it  so  I  can  feel  it." 

"Yes,  Ran.  Is  that  hard  enough  now  ?  I  don't  want  to 
hurrt  ye,"  said  Judy,  pressing  his  hand  closely. 

"Yes,  dear,  that  will  do.    Judy?" 

"What,  thin,  me  jewil?" 

"You  are  Judy,  are  you  not  ?" 

"Why,  av  coorse.    Who  else  would  I  be  ?" 

"And — I  am  not  delirious,  am  I,  Judy?" 

"Not — del — what  is  it?" 

"I  mean,  I  am  not  out  of  my  head,  am  I  ?" 

"Ooot  av  yer  head  ?  Not  a  bit  av  it,  Ran !  Not  at  prisint, 
glory  be  to  Him !" 

"Then,  my  dear  girl,  tell  me  what  all  this  means?" 

"And  so  I  will,  Ran,  dear,  when  ye  have  ate  and  dhrank 
and  put  some  strength  intil  ye.  Sure  here  comes  the  man 
with  the  bafe  tay." 

"What  man?" 

"Owld  Father,  darlint.  Owld  Father,  who  sits  outside 
av  the  door  to  rin  errands,  though  blissid  the  rin  he  can 
rin,  ayther." 

Old  Peter  now  came  up  to  the  bed  bearing  a  little  tray 
on  which  stood  a  bowl  of  beef  tea  and  a  glass  of  port  wine. 

"If  ye'll  howld  the  thray,  Miss  Judy,  I'll  raise  the  gintle- 
min  in  me  arms,  so  he  can  take  his  ref  rashmints,  convay- 
nient  like,"  said  Peter,  who  then  gave  the  tray  into  Judy's 
hands,  went  up  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  raised  the  invalid 


218  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

into  a  sitting  position,  got  up  behind  him,  and  resting 
his  own  back  against  the  headboard,  supported  Ran  on  his 
own  broad  breast  with  his  arms  around  the  boy's  body. 

"Now,  ye'll  just  give  him  a  sup  av  the  wine  first,  Miss 
Judy,"  said  Peter. 

Judy  set  the  tray  on  a  chair,  then  took  the  glass  of  wine 
and  put  it  to  Ran's  lips.  Ran  resting  comfortably  in  the 
old  soldier's  arms,  sipped  the  elixir  of  life  held  to  him,  and 
revived  visibly. 

"That's  a  darlint !"  sighed  Judy,  putting  down  the  half- 
empty  glass  and  complimenting  Ran,  as  if  he  had  done  a 
praiseworthy  act. 

"Now  fade  him  the  bafe  tay  wid  the  spoon!"  said  the 
old  soldier. 

And  Judy,  smiling  in  delight,  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
held  the  bowl  on  her  lap,  and  administered  the  beef  tea  by 
spoonfuls. 

"Och,  that  will  put  the  life  intil  him !"  said  old  Peter. 

And  Judy,  in  a  quiet  rapture,  knew  from  what  she  saw 
that  the  veteran  spoke  the  very  truth. 

When  the  bowl  was  empty,  the  patient  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  satisfaction. 

"Noo,  Miss  Judy,  give  him  the  lave  av  the  wine  to  top  off 
wid,"  said  old  Peter. 

Judy  put  down  the  bowl  and  took  up  the  glass  and  held 
it  to  the  lips  of  her  patient,  who  drank  it  all,  and  drew  an- 
other deep  breath  of  perfect  satisfaction. 

"Hooray  for  us !"  said  the  old  soldier,  in  a  low  tone  of 
half-suppressed  exultation.  "Hooray  for  us!  "We'll  aise 
him  doon  now.  But,  Miss  Judy,  ye'll  plaise  to  bate  up  his 
pillow  and  turn  it  over,  while  I  howld  him  oop." 

Judy  obeyed,  and  neatly  arranged  the  bolster  and  pil- 
lows, while  old  Peter  supported  the  patient. 

"Now  we'll  aise  him  doon,  comfortable,  so/'  said  the  old 
man,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

And  then  he  smoothed  the  coverlet  and  finally  he  took 
up  the  tray  with  the  empty  bowl  and  glass,  and  started  to 
leave  the  room. 

"I  thank  ye  so  much !  I  thank  ye  so  much,  Misther 
Pather,  and  so  will  Ran  whin  he  is  able  to  think  his 
thoughts,  and  ixpriss  his  falings,  poor  bhoy !"  said  Judy, 
gratefully. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  219 

"I  thank  you  now,  sir;  indeed,  I  do,  very  much.  You 
have  been  more  than  kind.  But  I — I  am  somewhat  con- 
fused still — I  don't  know  whose  house  this  is,  or  how  I 
came  to  be  in  it.  But  you  are  very  good  to  me.  and  I  am 
very  grateful  to  you,"  said  Ran. 

''Whisht,  whisht,  man  !  What  for  should  ye  thank  a  man 
for  doing  av  his  plain  Christian  and  milingtary  dooty? 
Miss  Judy !  he's  all  right  noo !  He  hasn't  said  so  many 
words  at  a  stretch  since  the  day  he  was  brought  into  the 
house !  And  sure,  here's  the  docther  himself !"  said  o!  '. 
Peter,  as  he  slipped  through  the  door,  saluting  his  superior 
officer  as  he  passed  out. 

The  doctor  came  into  the  room,  and  closed  the  door. 

Kan  looked  up  to  see  the  newcomer. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

SOME  SURPRISES 

"WELL,"  said  the  surgeon,  as  he  walked  up  to  the  side 
of  the  bed  and  took  the  hand  of  his  patient,  to  test  the 
pulse,  "how  are  we  this  morning?" 

Ran  looked  up,  with  a  faint  smile  fluttering  about  his 
pallid  lips,  and  replied: 

"Speaking  for  the  wounded  man,  doctor,  Tie  is  clothed 
and  in  his  right  mind/  though  sorely  perplexed  as  to  his 
surroundings." 

The  surgeon  himself  looked  "perplexed,"  as  well  as  sur- 
prised. He  had  not  expected  to  find  so  much  brightness 
and  intelligence  in  the  bethrothed  husband  of  poor,  igno- 
rant Judy.  Before  he  could  reply,  the  young  man  con- 
tinued : 

"I  have  much,  very  much,  to  thank  you  for,  doctor,  and 
to  thank  others  for,  as  well." 

The  doctor  looked  even  more  puzzled.  Here  was  the  in- 
jured youth  not  only  fully  restored  to  consciousness  and  in- 
telligence, but  speaking  with  the  grace  and  courtesy  of  a 
cultured  gentleman.  And  yet  he  was  going  to  marry 
rough  little  Judy. 

".This  is  more  clear  talking  than  he's  talked  since  he 


220  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

woke  up,  docther,"  put  in  Judy,  who  had  given  her  place 
by  the  pillow  to  the  surgeon,  and  passed  around  to  the  foot 
of  the  cot,  where  she  stood. 

The  surgeon  sat  down  in  the  chair  vacated  by  the  girl, 
and  again  took  the  hand  of  the  patient  and  held  it,  while 
he  answered: 

"Yes,  there  is  great  improvement.  The  highly  stimu- 
lating and  nourishing  food  he  has  just  taken  has  much  to 
do  with  this  new  strength,  of  course ;  but  we  must  not  tax 
that  too  much.  He  should  repose  after  feeding." 

The  youth  spoke  again,  but  feebly : 

"If  you  would  kindly  tell  me  where  I  am5  how  I  came 
here  and  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  all  the  care — and 
kindness — and  attention — I  have  received,  and  am  receiv- 
ing, I  should  be  even  more  grateful  than  I  am,  and  then 
should  be  able  to  repose." 

"Well,  yes,  you  can  bear  it  now,  my  brave  boy.  So  listen, 
and  be  calm.  On  the  night  of  the  second  of  April  you  were 
found  in  the  woods  near  Longman's  lodge,  wounded  and  in- 
sensible. And  you  were  brought  here  to  the  fort,  and  laid 
here  on  this  bed  in  the  surgical  ward. . 

"And  you  are  the  surgeon — Dr.  Hill?"  inquired  Ean. 

"Yes." 

"Again  I  thank  you  very  much.  Now,  how  came  Miss 
Judith  Man  here?  Who  told  you  anything  about  her?  I 
could  not,  for  I  must  have  been  long  in  a  stupor.  Pardon 
my  inquisitiveness,  doctor." 

But  before  the  surgeon  could  reply,  impulsive  Judy  has- 
tened to  explain. 

"Och,  sure,  nobody  towld  nothing  about  me;  as  how 
should  they,  when  they  knowed  nothing  ?  But  I  was  war- 
rund  in  a  dhrame,  Ean.  I  was  warrund  in  a  dhrame." 

"Warned — in  a  dream?"  slowly  questioned  the  young 
man. 

"Yis;  sure.  The  docther  and  the  lady  tell  me  I  wasn't 
warrund  at  all,  but  only  skeered,  and  that  finding  you 
wounded  was  only  a  co-co-co-confidence." 

"And  you  came  to  look  after  me,  Judy?" 

"Yis." 

"Who  came  with  you,  dear?" 

"Tip,  sure;  who  else?" 
.     "And  you  came  all  the  way  through  the  wilderness  alone, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  221 

with,  no  one  but  Tip?"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  staring 
at  his  sweetheart,  attempting  to  rise  on  his  elbow,  and  then, 
falling  back  from  exhaustion. 

"And,  sure,  why  wouldn't  I?"  queried  Judy. 

"Now,  this  won't  do  at  all.  If  you  excite  yourself  so,  I 
must  take  away  Miss  Judy  and  give  you  a  sedative,"  said 
the  surgeon,  kindly,  but  firmly,  as  he  arragned  the  pillows 
and  covering  of  the  bed. 

"I  will  be  calm,  sir;  have  no  doubt  of  me.  But  the  idea 
of  her  crossing  the  wilderness  with  only  the  dog!" 

"  'Lis'bith  of  Siberia  hadn't  even  a  dog.  Ran !"  put  in 
Judy. 

"I  was  found  wounded  and  insensible,  you  say.  Where 
was  Gentleman  Geff  ?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"He  manes  the  great  swell  gintleman  who  come  wid 
him,"  Judy  explained. 

"No  such  person  has  been  seen  or  heard  of,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

"Sure,  we  thought  whin  ye  come  to  ye'self  ye  could  tell 
us  what  had  got  him,"  said  Judy. 

Poor  Ran  put  his  wasted  hand  up  to  his  forehead,  and 
tried  to  recall  the  past,  but  without  much  effect. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  piteously;  "there's  a  gap  some- 
where. I  do  know  that  we  two,  Delamere — whom  the 
miners  called  Gentleman  Geff — and  myself  had  a  pleasant, 
leisurely  walk  all  that  day  through  the  forest.  We  rested 
at  noon  in  a  pine  glade.  We  went  on  in  the  afternoon,  and 
had  a  thought  of  sleeping  at  Longman's,  But  we  seemed 
to  be  a  long  time  getting  near  it.  Let  me  see.  Let  me 
think  now." 

Ran  paused,  and  both  his  hearers  kept  quiet. 

Presently  he  resumed: 

"  It  came  on  to  be  night.  We  were  in  a  very  thick  wood. 
The  trail  was  almost  invisible  by  the  light  of  the  lantern, 
and  so  narrow  and  difficult  that  we  could  only  walk  in 
single  file.  As  I  knew  the  trail  best,  Delamere  sent  me  on 
a  few  feet  ahead  of  him  with  the  lantern.  Stay — let  me 
reflect." 

Again  the  youth  paused,  passed  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, and  then  suddenly  brightened  up,  and  said: 

"Yes.  I  remember  now.  The  thicket  was  very  close 
and  dark;  but  up  overhead,  through  the  foliage  of  the  tall 


222  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

trees,  I  could  see  the  stars  shining  from  a  clear  sky.  They 
were  so  many,  so  large  and  so  brilliant,  that  I  recalled  the 
song  we  used  to  sing  together,  Judy.  You  and  I,  who  never 
had  any  heart-breaking  sorrow,  used  to  join  our  voices  in : 

"  'Oh,  thou  who  dryest  the  mourner's  tear.' 

Don't  you  remember?  Well,  I  was  singing  the  last  verse, 
with  the  refrain : 

"  'When  sorrow  touched  by  Thee  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day, 

As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light ' 

and  then  suddenly  came  a  thunderbolt  and  oblivion,"  con- 
cluded Ean. 

His  two  hearers  kept  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  to  give 
him  time  to  rest  and  recover  himself ;  for  he  was  as  yet  very 
weak. 

Presently  Ean  resumed,  speaking  faintly: 

"Of  course,  now  I  understand  that  I  was  shot  down ;  but 
by  whom  I  do  not  know,  or  even  suspect.  If  life  depended 
on  it,  I  could  remember  no  more  of  the  circumstance,  and 
nothing  between  the  shock  in  the  woods  and  the  recovery 
in  this  bed." 

"  Suspicion  fell  upon  Gentleman  Geff  when  he  was  known 
to  have  been  your  comrade,  and  was  found  to  be  missing," 
said  the  surgeon. 

"On  Gentleman  Geff?  Mr.  Delamere?  Oh,  that  was 
very  unjust.  Geoffrey  Delamere  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  and 
one  of  my  best  friends,"  warmly  replied  Kan. 

"Yis,  indeed!  He  is  that!  A  perfect  gintleman !  That's 
the  raison  they  made  fun  av  him  in  the  camp.  But,  mind 
ye,  I  don't  like  the  gintleman  meself !  I  wouldn't  belave 
ivirything  he  sez;  but,  dear  me;  he  wears  the  whitest  and 
finest  av  linen,  and  carries  the  finest  av  scinted  soap  in  his 
bag !  Oh,  no !  Gintleman  Geff  might  lie  and  chate  at  cards 
like  any  ither  gintleman,  but  he  could  niver  murther  and 
rob  like  a  bludethirsty  ruffian  in  a  ragged  shirt  and  owld 
top  boots !" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  223 

"Of  course  not,"  assented  the  surgeon,  with  good- 
humored  sarcasm. 

"Bob  ?  Did  ye  say  rob,  Judy  ?  Was  I  robbed  ?"  inquired 
Ran. 

"  Av  iviry  living  thing  on  yeez  !"  replied  Judy. 

"I  had  no  living  thing  on  me,"  said  Ran,  with  his  queer 
smile. 

"Av  coorse  I  mane  av  iviry  blissid  thing  aboot  ye." 

"But  I  had  no  blessed  thing  about  me,  Judy." 

"Och,  sure,  it's  well  ye  are  getting  to  take  me  oop  so 
short !"  said  Judy. 

"But  my  young  friend,  you  were  robbed  as  well  as  half 
murdered,"  said  the  surgeon. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  had  little  enough  about  me  of  any  value 
to  tempt  the  poorest  brute.  Only  documents  of  no  use  to 
anyone  but  myself,  and  a  few  ounces  of  gold  dust,  that, 
sold  in  San  Francisco,  would  have  borne  my  expenses  to 
New  York.  That  was  all." 

'Not  enough  to  tempt  a  gentleman  like  Delamere  cer- 
ta  nly,"  said  the  doctor. 

'No,  indade,"  agreed  Judy. 

'But  what  do  you  suppose  became  of  your  companion?" 
inquired  the  surgeon. 

'Delamere?" 

'Of  course." 

'Oh,  I  think  he,  too,  was  killed,  poor  fellow!  poor  fel- 
low !  And  to  meet  such  a  fate  through  the  kindness  of  his 
heart  and  the  fidelity  of  his  friendship  in  bearing  me  com- 
pany through  the  wilderness !"  sighed  poor  Ran. 

For  a  few  moments  he  seemed  to  give  up  his  mind  to  the 
contemplation  of  his  friend's  fate,  and  to  have  no  thought 
of  the  documents  and  gold  dust  of  which  he  had  been 
robbed.  But,  at  last,  Judy  recalled  him  to  the  fact  of  their 
loss  by  saying: 

"If  it's  the  lost  papers  and  goold  as  ye  are  graiving 
afther,  Ran,  ye  naden't  be  throubling  yourself.  Sure  I 
towld  Mrs.  Moseley,  the  colonel's  wife,  all  aboot  it,  and  she 
says  as  long  as  it  was  the  copies  and  not  the  copy  books 
as  was  stholen,  it  don't  matther.  You  can  get  more  copies 
out  of  the  copy  books;  and  as  for  the  money,  whin  it's 
known  ye  are  nixt  av  kin  to  a  great  estate,  ye  can  git  all 
the  money  ye  nade,  on  aisy  terrums,  too." 


224  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"I  know  that,  dear  Judy.  I  ain  not  thinking  of  that,  but 
of  poor  Delamere.  As  his  body  has  never  been  found,  he 
may  not  be  dead.  He  may  have  been  carried  off  by  the 
Indians." 

At  this  moment  old  Peter  came  into  the  ward,  walked  up 
to  the  surgeon,  and  whispered. 

"Longman?"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  in  response  to  that 
whisper.  "I  will  go  out  and  see  him." 

And  he  arose  and  followed  the  old  soldier  from  the  ward. 

In  the  surgeon's  consulting  room  he  found  Longman  and 
two  strangers. 

"Excuse  me  for  troubling  you,  doctor,  but " 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,  Mr.  Longman.  Sit  down,  you 
and  your  friends.  How  can  I  serve  you  ?"  inquired  the 
surgeon. 

"Thank  you,  doctor.  These  men  are  friends  of  young 
Hay.  This  is  Andrew  Quin,  one  of  his  neighbors,"  said 
Longman,  indicating  the  old  man. 

The  doctor  bowed. 

"And  this  is  Michael  Man,  the  brother  of  Miss  Judy," 
he  continued,  as  he  presented  Mike,  who  stood  up  and 
pulled  his  hair  by  way  of  a  deferential  salute. 

"Ah!"  said  the  doctor;  "pray  resume  your  seats.  You 
wish  to  inquire  about  my  patient.  He  is  very  much  better 
and  will  soon  be  well." 

"And  me  swishter,  docther,  if  ye  plaise,  sir?"  said  Mike, 
anxiously,  but  respectfully. 

"Your  sister  is  quite  well.  She  is  here  under  the  protec- 
tion of  our  colonel's  wife.  Just  at  present  she  is  sitting  be- 
side your  wounded  friend." 

"And,  docther,  dear,  might  we  be  afther  saying  the  two 
av  thim?" 

"There  is  no  objection  to  your  seeing  your  sister  pres- 
ently. But  I  think  you  had  better  defer  your  interview 
with  your  friend  until  to-morrow.  He  recovered  conscious- 
ness so  far  as  to  recognize  faces  and  converse  rationally 
this  morning;  but  he  is  still  very  weak  and  has  already 
talked  and  listened  more  than  is  good  for  him." 

"You  and  Dandy  can  go  home  with  me  and  stay  at  the 
lodge  and  come  back  here  again  to-morrow.  I  wouldn't 
trouble  Miss  Judy,  neither,  to-day,  if  I  were  you,  Mike, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  225 

now  that  you  know  she  is  safe,  and  well  protected  by  Mrs. 
Col.  Moseley,"  put  in  the  hunter. 

"Thank  ye  for  your  chivility,  Misther  Longman,  and  I 
belave  ye  are  right.  Minny  thanks  to  ye,  docther,  and 
to  the  colonel's  leddy,  on  behalf  av  me  swishter  and  me 
friend,  and  wid  me  duty  till  ye,  I'll  take  me  lave,"  said 
Mike,  rising  and  pulling  his  hair. 

"What  time  in  the  morning  shall  these  men  make  their 
visit,  doctor?"  inquired  Longman,  who  had  also  risen  to 
his  feet. 

"As  early  after  sunrise  as  may  be  convenient  to  them.  It 
is  the  best  time  for  seeing  the  convalescent,  who  will  then 
have  been  refreshed  by  a  night's  rest  and  a  good  breakfast." 

"Thank  ye,  docther.    We'll  be  on  time !"  said  Mike. 

"We  have  a  report  to  make  to  the  colonel,  also,  relative 
to  a  dead  body  found  in  the  woods,  and  we  will  go  over  to 
his  quarters  now,"  added  Longman. 

" Stay !"  exclaimed  the  surgeon ;  "the  colonel  is  not  in  the 
fort.  He  has  ridden  over  to  the  Nez  Percez  Agency,  and 
will  not  be  back  until  night.  A  dead  bodmy  found  in  the 
woods,  you  say?  What  about  it?  Sit  down  again  and 
tell  me." 

The  three  men  resumed  their  seats. 

Longman  explained. 

"As  these  two  men  were  coming  through  that  part  of  the 
wilderness  called  'Phantom  Forest,'  followed  by  their  dog, 
the  hound  broke  from  them  and  rushed  into  the  thicket 
on  their  left  in  full  cry  after  a  scent.  The  men  followed 
the  dog  with  some  difficulty  through  the  tangled  thicket, 
until  they  came  to  a  very  small  opening  where  there  were 
the  brands  and  ashes  of  a  burned-out  fire,  and  also, 
stretched  beside  it,  the  dead  body  of  a  man.  Am  I  right, 
Mike?"  inquired  the  hunter,  appealing  to  the  hero  of  this 
ghastly  adventure. 

"Eight  ye  are,  Misther  Longman,"  responded  Mike. 

"As  soon  as  these  two  men,  coming  suddenly  upon  such 
a  horrible  spectacle,  recovered  from  their  consternation,  they 
approached  and  examined  the  corpse.  It  was  that  of  a  tall 
man  with  fair  hair  and  beard.  That  was  all  which  could 
be  known.  For  the  body  had  been  stripped  of  all  its  cloth- 
ing, and  nearly  all  its  flesh  by  the  birds  and  beasts  of  prey, 


226  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

human  and  brutal.  Was  not  that  so,  Dandy?"  said  the 
narrator,  appealing  to  the  other  witness. 

"So  it  were,  Misther  Longman.  Such  were  the  sight 
that  met  me  two  looking  eyes,  that  mortial  hour,  and  will 
nivir  lave  thim  the  longest  day  I  have  to  live,"  replied  old 
Andrew,  with  a  shudder. 

The  army  surgeon  had,  in  the  course  of  a  long  experience, 
seen  many  a  ghastly  sight  and  heard  many  a  horrible  re- 
port; so  he  was  not  so  much  moved  by  this  description  as 
were  the  men  who  had  been  spectators  of  the  scene.  He 
gravely  inquired: 

"Have  any  of  you  any  suspicion  of  the  identity  of  those 
remains  ?" 

"Well,  yes,"  answered  Longman,  "when  these  two  men 
and  myself  had  compared  notes,  we  became  pretty  thor- 
oughly convinced  that  the  body  was  that  of  one  Gentleman 
Geff,  who  had  been  the  companion  of  Ran  Hay  on  his  tramp 
from  Grizzly." 

"I  think  you  are  undoubtedly  right,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"Some  party  of  Indians  or  of  border  ruffians  stole  upon 
the  two  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  solitude  of  the 
woods  and  committed  the  double  crimes.  Robbed  young 
Hay  and  left  him  for  dead.  And  really  murdered  and  de- 
spoiled Delamere.  The  colonel  will  be  home  to-night.  But 
it  will  be  late.  So  you  had  better  wait  until  to-morrow  to 
make  your  report." 

Once  more  the  men  arose  to  take  leave  and  bowed  them- 
selves out  of  the  surgeon's  office. 

The  doctor  returned  to  the  ward  where  he  had  left  his 
patient. 

He  found  Ran  fast  asleep,  and  Judy  sitting  by  him  in. 
weary  idleness. 

"He  wint  to  slape  almost  immediately  afther  ye  left  him, 
docther.  And  sure  he  is  slaping  like  a  angel  noo.  And  will 
ye  be  telling  me  the  time  av  day  it  is  ?" 

"A  quarter  to  two,  my  girl." 

"  Och !  then  I  must  be  rinning  over  to  the  colonel's.  The 
leddy  will  be  looking  for  me,"  said  Judy. 

"Yes,  go!  Peter  will  sit  by  the  patient  until  I  send  a 
man  to  relieve  him." 

Judy  jumped  up,  seized  her  hat  from  its  peg  on  the  wall 
and  ran  out. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  227 

The  surgeon  had  thought  it  best  not  to  tell  her  of  the 
arrival  of  her  brother  and  his  companions,  or  of  the  dead 
body,  but  to  leave  all  that  news  for  the  next  day.  He  had 
not  full  confidence  in  Judy's  power  of  reserve,  and  thought 
she  might  let  out  to  Kan  news  that  would  tend  to  disturb 
his  night's  rest.  So  he  kept  silent,  while  Judy  ran  away. 

Judy  passed  the  sentinel  on  duty  before  the  colonel's 
quarters  and  entered  the  house,  and  made  her  way  to  the 
dining  room,  where:  she  found  the  large  family  of  girls  and 
boys  all  seated  at  the  long  table,  and  the  mother  buzzing 
about  from  one  to  another,  seeing  that  all  were  served  be- 
fore she  seated  herself. 

"All,  you  are  punctual,  Judy !  There's  your  place,  next 
to  Teddy,  who  will  wait  on  you,"1  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  taking 
the  hand  of  the  girl  and  drawing  her  toward  her  seat. 

"It  is  chicken  potpie,  Miss  Judy,"  confidentially  whis- 
pered the  boy,  as  the  girl  sat  down. 

When  the  "house  mother"  had  helped  all  her  numerous 
progeny,  and  taken  her  own  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
she  found  time  at  last  to  inquire  of  Judy  about  the  wounded 
man. 

"He  is  slaping  like  an  angel,  and  is  almost  as  good  as 
well,"  replied  Judy,  with  a  joyful  smile. 

When  dinner  was  over,  and  the  young  party  dispered  for 
a  half  hour's  recreation  before  resuming  their  work  or  their 
studies,  Judy  followed  Mrs.  Moseley  into  her  sitting  room, 
where  the  lady  immediately  sat  down  to  a  large  basketful 
of  needlework. 

"Take  a  seat,  Judy,  if  you  are  not  in  a  hurry  to  get  back 
to  your  patient,"  she  said. 

"But  I  am  in  a  hurry,  plaise,  ma'am,  and  I  have  only 
stopped  to  ax  ye  to  give  me  some  worruk  to  kape  me  from 
biting  my  finger  ends  aff  from  want  av  imply  mint."' 

"Work,  Judy?    What  work,  my  girl?" 

"Any  worruk  that  I  can  do  sitting  by  Ran — knitting, 
darning,  minding,  or  anything.  It  would  be  kind,  ma'am."' 

"Thank  you,  child.  It  is  you  who  are  kind,  and  your 
help  will  be  of  much  use  to  me." 


£28  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    OTHER     VICTIM 

POOR  Jennie  Montgomery,  the  second  victim  of  Gentle- 
man Geff,  lay  in  bed  in  the  confinement  ward  of  the  great 
hospital,  with  her  four  days'  old  baby  girl  in  her  arms. 

A  professional  nurse  sat  by  her  side. 

A  detective  officer,  in  plain  clothes,  stood  at  some  little 
distance,  within  hearing  of  the  patient's  voice,  yet  without 
the  range  of  her  vision. 

She  was  out  of  danger.  Youth,  a  strong  constitution, 
and  the  very  best  medical  and  surgical  science  and  treat- 
ment, had  saved  her  life  and  the  life  of  her  child. 

After  the  examination  of  her  wound  the  theory  of  sui- 
cide was  abandoned,  and  it  was  decided  that  she  had  been 
the  victim  of  a  murderous  assault. 

But  by  whom? 

No  clew  could  be  found  to  the  would-be  murderer.  No 
one,  probably,  but  the  girl  herself  could  give  the  necessary 
information  that  might  l^ad  to  his  arrest.  And  she  had  been 
too  ill  to  be  questioned.  Even  now,  though  out  of  imme- 
diate danger,  she  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear  the  excite- 
ment of  a  judicial  examination  under  oath.  Yet  the  ends 
of  justice  required  prompt  action.  So,  after  the  doctor's 
visit  to  her  that  morning,  finding  her  still  improving,  he 
had  consented  to  a  very  cautious  examination  of  the  patient 
in  regard  to  the  felonious  assault  made  upon  her. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  kind,  motherly  woman  who  was 
her  professional  nurse,  and  whose  goodness  and  tenderness 
had  won  her  confidence  and  affection,  should  gently  and  dis- 
creetly question  her,  while  a  detective  officer,  who  was  also 
a  stenographer,  should  be  stationed  out  of  sight,  but  within 
hearing,  to  take  down  her  words. 

A  judicial  examination  might  be  held  later,  when  the 
young  woman  should  be  well  enough  to  bear  it.  Meanwhile, 
time  might  be  saved  and  a  sure  clew  gained  by  this. 

The  good  nurse  sat  down  by  her  patient,  and  taking  her 
hand,  began,  in  a  roundabout  manner : 

"You  said,  dear,  that  your  name  was  Jennie  Mont- 
gomery, and  that  you  were  a  stranger  in  the  city  here." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  229 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  woman,  "I  told  you  that,  and  it 
is  true." 

"Have  you  any  friends  in  this  country  that  you  would 
like  us  to  write  to  ?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  I  have  no  friends  at  all 
in  this  country.  I  have  no  one  but  my  precious,  precious 
baby !  And  you  think  she  will  live,  though  she  is  so  small 
and  weak?  You  think  she  will  live,  nurse?"  anxiously  de- 
manded the  young  mother. 

"Of  course  she'll  live." 

"  Oh,  then,  thank  the  Lord !  Thank  the  Lord  for  my  own 
blessed,  blessed  baby!  She  is  worth  all  I  have  ever  suf- 
fered— all  I  have  ever  suffered !  I  do  not  care  now.  I  will 
get  well,  and  work  for  my  precious,  precious  baby.  I  will 
seek  no  revenge.  Everybody  shall  do  as  they  please,  and 
go  free  from  any  vengeance  of  mine.  Oh,  how  can  anyone 
be  spiteful  or  envious  or  unhappy  who  has  a  heavenly,  heav- 
enly baby  all  her  own,  her  gift  from  the  Lord  in  heaven  ?" 

"Yes,  dear,  that  is  all  very  well,  seeing  it's  your  first  and 
only  one;  but  if  you  had  ten  of  them,  and  had  to  toil  and 
moil " 

"I  shall  never  have  but  this  one — this  precious,  blessed,, 
heavenly  babe!" 

"You  are  very  young  to  say  the  like  of  that.  And  what 
would  your  husband  say  to  it?"' 

"I  have  no  husband,"  replied  Jennie,  not  bitterly,  but 
emphatically. 

"I  thought,  dear,  you  told  me  you  were  married?"  said 
Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"Yes,  I  told  you  so,  and  it  was  true." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  dear?  It  is  for 
your  own  sake  I  ask." 

"Yes.  I  have  nothing  personally  to  conceal  I  am, 
eighteen  years  old,  the  daughter  of  the  Kev.  James  Camp- 
bell, a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  having  a  par- 
ish at  Hedge,  Hants,  and  I  was  married  about  a  year  ago 
to  Capt.  Kightly  Montgomery,  of  the  Royal  Hussars.  See, 
here  is  my  wedding  ring,"  said  the  young  woman,  holding 
up  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand. 

"Yes,  I  see;  but  have  you  your  marriage  lines  all  right?" 

"Yes,  I  have  my  marriage  certificate," 


230  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"I  hope  you  have  it  in  a  safe  place,  my  dearie,"  said  the 
•wily  nurse. 

"Yes,  it  is  locked  up,  with  other  papers,  in  my  box,  in 
my  room,  at  No.  Ill  Vevay  Street,  where  I  believe  the 
people  to  be  honest,"  replied  the  young  woman,  while  the 
detective  officer,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  heard  and  took 
down  every  word. 

"Poor  child !    And  you  have  no  husband  now ?" 

"No." 

"How  long  have  you  been  a  widow?"  next  inquired  Mrs. 
Gilbert. 

Jennie  paused  to  reflect,  and  then  answered : 

"About  six  months." 

"That  is  sad.    But  your  baby  will  be  a  comfort  to  you." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  a  heavenly  comfort !  I  will  take  my  baby,  my 
precious  baby,  and  work  for  her  and  let  the  sinners  go 
where  they  will." 

The  nurse  was  trying  to  lead  up  to  the  subject  of  the 
murderous  assault  that  had  been  made  on  this  young 
woman.  But  no  line  she  had  taken  had  yet  reached  it,  so 
at  last  she  was  obliged  to  ask  the  straightforward  question : 

"My  dear,  can  you  tell  me  who  it  was  who  assailed  you 
on  Wednesday  night  of  last  week?" 

"I  can,  but  I  will  not.  Do  not  ask  me,  dear  nurse.  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you,  and  to  all,  for  all  the  kindness 
shown  me  here ;  but  do  not  ask  me  that  question,  for  I  will 
not  answer  it,"  firmly  replied  Jennie. 

"But  why  will  you  not,  my  dear?  Wiry  not  give  a  ruf- 
fian up  to  justice  ?"  gently  inquired  the  nurse. 

"If  I  were  to  do  so,  what  would  be  his  punishment?"  in 
her  turn  inquired  Jennie. 

"For  assault  with  intent  to  kill,"  said  the  woman,  medi- 
tatively. "Well,  I  don't  quite  know,  my  dear;  but  I  think 
he  would  get  twenty  years'  penal  servitude  in  the  State 
prison.  That's  what  I  think  he'll  get,  and  that's  what  I 
think  he'll  deserve  to  get.  Yes,  that's  just  what  I  think 
he'll  get." 

"If  he  should  be  caught  and  convicted." 

"  Oh !  he'll  be  caught  and  convicted,  and  sentenced  and 
sent  to  penal  servitude  in  the  State  prison,  fast  enough, 
whether  you  give  evidence  against  him  or  not." 

"Is  that  true?" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  231 

"As  true  as  truth.  And  why  you  should  wish  to  protect 
such  a  ruffian,  my  dear,  I,  for  one,  cannot  make  out!" 

"See  here,  Mrs.  Gilbert;  you  speak  of  my  assailant  as  a 
ruffian.  You  do  no  not  even  know  that  the  person  who  at- 
tacked me  was  a  man.  You  do  not  know  but  that  the  as- 
sailant was  a  woman/'  said  Jennie. 

"No,  I  don't  know;  neither  do  I  know  why  you  shield 
him  or  her." 

"Listen,  Mrs.  Gilbert.  Before  this  blessed  baby  came,  I 
might  have  given  the  offender  up  to  justice  and  even  re- 
joiced in  the  severity  of  his  punishment,  but  it  would  have 
been  in  the  spirit  of  revenge.  But  somehow — I  don't  under- 
stand how — this  blessed  baby,  this  helpless,  harmless  crea- 
ture on  my  arms  has  driven  the  evil  spirit  of  vengeance  out 
of  me  and  angels  have  come.  That  is  why  I  will  do  noth- 
ing to  make  anyone  unhappy,  or  to  ruin  any,  even  a  sinner's 
life.  So  do  not  press  me  on  this  subject.  This  is  my  final 
answer." 

The  ward  physician  making  his  afternoon  rounds,  came 
up  to  the  bed  of  Jennie  Montgomery,  felt  her  pulse,  asked 
her  some  professional  questions,  and  then  said: 

"No  more  talking  with  this  patient  to-day  nurse;  not 
one  word  except  in  the  strict  line  of  your  hospital  duty." 

And  then  he  passed  on. 

The  detective  took  up  his  notebook  and  pencil,  slipped 
them  into  his  pocket,  nodded  to  the  nurse  and  retreated, 
unseen  and  unsuspected  by  the  patient. 

Detective  Dtyant  went  immediately  to  police  head- 
quarters and  made  his  report : 

A  policeman  was  dispatched  to  111  Vevay  Street,  with 
orders  to  seize  all  the  personal  effects  of  Jane  Montgomery, 
and  to  bring  them  to  police  headquarters. 

When  this  was  done,  the  boxes  were  thoroughly  searched. 
Clews  were  supposed  to  be  found  to  the  unknown  assailant. 
There  were  letters  addressed  to  "Mrs.  Kightly  Montgom- 
ery," beginning,  "My  Adored  Wife,"  ending,  "Your  De- 
voted Husband,"  signed,  "Kightly  Montgomery." 

There  was  also  a  tinted  ivorytype  miniature  of  a  very 
handsome  blond  man,  with  fresh  complexion,  light  brown 
hair  and  mustache,  and  blue  eyes.  He  wore  the  uniform  of 
the  Royal  Hussars. 


232  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"This  must  be  the  gallant  captain  of  whom  the  poor 
girl  spoke,''  said  Bryant,  as  he  inspected  the  miniature. 

While  the  officers  were  still  engaged  in  looking  over  the 
letters,  a  woman,  tall,  thin,  pale,  dressed  in  black  and  look- 
ing as  if  she  had  just  risen,  too  soon,  from  a  bed  of  illness, 
came  into  the  office  and  asked  to  see  the  chief. 

"He  is  there,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  pointing  to  Capt. 
Blank,  who  was  seated  at  his  desk  behind  the  railing. 

"Well,  madam,  who  are  you,  and  what  can  we  do  for 
you  ?"  inquired  Chief  Blank. 

"If  you  please,  captain,  I  am  Mary  Marshall,  widow  and 
seamstress,  living  at  jSTo.  29  Quarry  Street,  and  I  have  come 
here  to  give  information  about  the  stabbing  of  that  girl  at 
— I  mean,  just  in  front  of  N"o.  30,  which  is  exactly  oppo- 
site my  place." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  chief,  and  he  immediately  became 
all  interest  and  attention. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  saw  it  all  from  my  window." 

"And  you  wish  to  make  the  deposition  under  oath?" 

"No,  sir;  I  only  want  to  tell  you  all  I  saw,  and  what  I 
thought  at  the  time.  One  of  the  officers  might  take  my 
words  down  and  read  them  over  to  me,  and  then,  if  I  find 
there's  any  mistakes,  I  might  correct  them  before  swear- 
ing to  the  facts.  I  don't  know  anything  about  courts  of 
law,  sir,  and  never  was  in  a  police  office  in  all  my  life  be- 
fore. So  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,"  pleaded  the  voluntary 
informer. 

"  Certainly !  Dryant,  bring  this  lady  a  chair  and  a  glass 
of  water.  Sit  down,  madam,  you  are  too  weak  to  stand. 
IsTew,  then,  tell  us  all  you  know  of  this  mysterious  affair," 
said  the  chief,  while  a  stenographer  present  took  notebook 
and  pencil  in  readiness  to  take  down  the  words  of  the  in- 
former. 

"It  was  Wednesday  night  of  last  week,  or,  to  speak 
strictly,  it  was  Thursday  morning,  for  it  was  long  after 
midnight.  Have  you  got  that  down  ?" 

The  stenographer  nodded,  and  the  informer  went  on. 

"It  was  the  last  night  of  July,  you  remember,  that  was, 
or  rather,  as  I  must  say  exactly,  it  was  the  first  day  of 
August,  and  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Got  that 
down?" 

.The  scribe  nodded. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  233 

"It  was  a  very  hot  night,  and  I  was  very  feverish.  This 
illness  was  coming  on  me,  though  I  didn't  know  what  it 
was  then — thought  it  was  the  hot  night  and  the  close  room. 
My  little  son,  he  is  six  years  old,  and  is  a  newsboy,  and  a 
very  bright  little  fellow,  too,  and  goes  to  night  school.  Got 
that  down?" 

"No,  it  is  irrelevant,"  said  the  scribe. 

"We  only  take  down  matters  directly  bearing  upon  this 
case.  But  go  on  and  tell  the  story  in  your  own  way," 
said  Capt.  Blank. 

"Oh,  I  see!  Yes,  I'll  have  to  tell  it  in  my  own  way. 
Well,  I  was  so  hot  and  dry,  and  feverish,  that  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  I  got  out  of  bed  in  the  dark,  and  went 
and  opened  the  blinds  and  sat  at  the  window  to  get  a  breath, 
of  cool  air.  The  street  was  as  dark  as  pitch.  There  are  no 
lamps  in  Quarry  Street.  It's  a  short  street,  and  a  very  nar- 
row one,  and  very  lonesome,  too,  at  night.  But  you  know 
one's  eyes  soon  get  used  to  the  darkness  so  that  one  can  see, 
and  it  is  especially  so  with  my  eyes.  I  can  see  better  in  the 
darkness  than  most  people.  So  I  could  see  all  up  and  down 
the  street  that  not  a  soul  was  stirring,  nor  a  living  creature. 
Got  that  down?" 

"All  right,  go  on." 

"And  now  mark  this.  Presently  I  heard  voices,  low,  ear- 
nest voices,  from  up  the  street  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way.  I  listened.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm  by  listening,  but 
I  was  so  lonesome  where  I  sat  that  it  was  interesting  to 
hear  somebody  talk.  Presently  I  could  tell  that  there  was  a 
man's  voice  and  a  girl's  voice.  They  were  coming  down  the 
street  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way.  I  could  tell  by  their 
tones  that  they  were  disputing;  the  man's  voice  was  stern 
and  angry,  the  girl's  plaintive  and  distressed.  I  listened 
with  all  my  ears,  and  I  have  good  ears,  I  can  tell  you ;  and 
as  they  came  nearer  and  nearer,  I  could  make  out  that  she 
was  insisting  on  his  doing  her  justice,  and  owning  her  for 
his  wife. 

"Then,  when  they  got  right  opposite  to  me  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  the  man  slackened  his  pace  and  stopped, 
and  so  did  she.  The  street  was  narrow,  as  I  said  before, 
and  so  still  that  you  might  hear  a  pin  drop,  and  my  window 
was  on  the  second  floor  front,  and  I  could  look  right  across 
and  down  on  them,  and  could  see  everything  they  did,  and 


234  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

liear  almost  every  word  they  said,  though  they  couldn't  see 
me,  for  the  darkness  was  as  black  as  ink,  and  I  was  in  that 
darkness.  Now,  young  man,  are  you  taking  down  every 
word  I  say?" 

"Every  word." 

"Well,  now,  listen  to  this.  I  heard  him  ask  her  what 
she  would  do  if  he  refused  to  own  her  for  his  wife,  and 
then  I  heard  her  answer  that  she  would  go  straight  to  that 
house — I  couldn't  catch  what  house — and  tell  some  young 
lady  who  was  going  to  marry  him — I  couldn't  catch  what 
young  lady — that  he  was  already  a  married  man,  and  that 
she,  herself,  was  his  wedded  wife,  and  that  she  would  prove 
it  by  the  marriage  certificate  and  by  his  own  letters  and 
by  his  photograph;  all  of  which  were  in  her  possession  at 
her  lodgings.  Have  you  got  all  that  down  right?" 

"Yes." 

"Sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"Very  well,  then,  for  now  it's  coming — now  it's  com- 
ing! Oh,  that  I  ever  should  have  seen  such  a  sight!  I 
saw  him  draw  something  out  of  his  pocket.  I  heard  him 
hiss  something  at  her — in  such  a  hissing  whisper  that  every 
word  and  every  syllable  of  it  seemed  to  hiss  and  spin  into 
my  ear — yes,  and  into  my  very  brain.  He  said : 

"  'You  have  hunted  me  to  the  earth.  But  tiger  hunt- 
ing has  its  deadly  perils.'  Anr  quick  as  a  flash  he  struck 
the  knife  into  her  breast,  and " 

The  witness  stopped,  and  grew  paler  than  before,  as  if 
overcome  by  the  image  her  memory  had  called  up. 

Dryant  brought  her  a  glass  of  water,  and  gave  her  a 
palm-leaf  fan.  She  drank  the  water  and  lay  back  in  her 
chair,  slowly  fanning  herself. 

"Well,  what  then?"  asked  Capt.  Blank. 

"I  don't  know.  I  fainted  dead  away,  and  fell  on  the  floor, 
where  I  lay  without  sense  until  daylight,  when  my  poor, 
little,  frightened  boy  found  me  and  alarmed  the  house. 
That's  what  I  was  told,  at  least.  I  have  been  very  ill,  sir, 
and  out  of  my  head  a  good  part  of  the  time  with  the  fever, 
but  I  am  better  now  and  on  the  road  to  recovery,"  con- 
cluded the  woman. 

"Why  did  you  not  give  this  information  sooner?"  in- 
quired the  chief. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  235 

"I  was  too  ill  to  leave  my  bed  till  this  day." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  a  magistrate,  or  a  police 
officer,  and  make  a  deposition  ?" 

"I  never  once  thought  of  that,  sir,  I  did  not  know  that 
was  the  right  way  to  do.  I  thought  I  would  have  to  come 
here  to  tell  all  I  saw." 

"Did  you  speak  of  this  matter  to  any  of  your  neighbors  ?" 

"Not  to  one  of  them.  I  was  too  ill  to  talk.  And  besides, 
I  should  have  been  afraid  to  speak  of  it  to  anybody  before 
coming  here  to  give  information  at  headquarters.  But 
you  see  I  don't  know  anything  about  such  matters." 

"I  see  you  do  not.  You  have  told  me  all  you  have  to 
tell?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  so." 

"Stay — what  sort  of  looking  man  was  this  who  stabbed 
the  girl?" 

"Well,  you  know,  I  couldn't  see  his  complexion,  nor  the 
color  of  his  hair  or  eyes,  for  it  was  dark;  but  I  could  see 
his  figure  perfectly.  He  was  a  tall,  straight,  broad-shoul- 
dered man,  with  a  well-set  head  and  a  proud  bearing,  and 
he  seemed  young,  by  the  way  he  moved  and  spoke." 

"And  the  girl?" 

"She  was  plump  and  childish — that  I  could  see  plain, 
enough,  but  whether  she  was  dark  or  fair,  I  couldn't  tell 
you." 

"Did  you  hear  any  name  called,  during  the  broken  con- 
versation between  the  two  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  forgot !  Once  I  heard  him  call  her  Jennie, 
and  more  than  once  I  heard  her  call  him  Kightly." 

"You  are  sure  those  were  the  names  you  heard?" 

"Certain  sure." 

"Did  you  hear  any  other  names?" 

"No,  none." 

"No  surnames?" 

"No,  unless  Kightly  was  a  surname.  It  don't  sound 
much  like  a  Christian  one." 

"And  this  is  all  you  have  to  say  about  this  case?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do  think  it  is  every  single  thing.  And  I 
would  like  to  go  home  now,  for  I  feel  very  miserable,  and 
if  the  doctor  knew  I  had  come  out  he  would  be  very  mad 
with  me !  But  you  see  I  heard  them  all  talking  about  the 
stabbing,  and  how  she  did  it  herself,  which  I  knew  wasn't 


236  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

true,  because  I  had  seen  the  man  do  it,  though  I  was  afraid 
to  set  'em  right,  or  to  say  anything  until  I  could  get  here 
to  give  information  at  headquarters  first  of  all." 

"Well,  you  are  at  liberty  to  go  now,  Mrs.  Marshall.  And 
when  you  are  wanted  you  will  be  found  at  No.  29  Quarry 
Street?" 

"Second  floor,  front.    Yes,  sir." 

"Dryant,"  said  the  chief,  "you  had  better  go  with  this 
lady.  She  is  too  ill  to  return  home  alone." 

The  kindly  detective  in  "plain  clothes"  offered  his  stout 
arm  to  the  pale  woman,  and  took  her  out  to  the  street 
cars,  and  escorted  her  home. 

In  half  an  hour  he  returned  to  his  post  of  duty. 
"We  begin  to  see  light  now;  eh,  Dryant?"  inquired  the 
chief,  as  his  subordinate  entered  the  office. 
"That's  so,  captain." 

"Here,  in  the  possession  of  this  injured  woman,  who 
has  given  her  name  as  Jennie  Montgomery,  wife  of  Kightly 
Montgomery,  are  found  letters  and  documents  that  confirm 
her  statements,  and  an  ivorytype  miniature  of  the  gal- 
lant officer,  with  his  initials  and  hers  woven  together  in  a 
monogram.  And  here  comes  a  woman  who  gives  informa- 
tion that  she  witnessed  the  interview  between  a  man  called 
by  the  girl  Kightly,  and  a  girl  called  by  the  man  Jennie ; 
heard  the  girl  urge  him  to  acknowledge  her  to  be  his  wife ; 
heard  him  refuse  to  do  so ;  heard  the  girl  threaten  to  expose 
him,  and  then — saw  the  man  stab  the  girl  in  the  breast. 
All  that  we  have  now  to  do  is  to  find  Kightly  Montgomery, 
the  husband  of  the  injured  girl,  the  assassin  who  assaulted 
her  with  intent  to  kill  her.  Hand  me  that  miniature, 
Dryant." 

The  detevtice  passed  the  ivorytype  to  his  chief. 
"All  we  have  to  do  is  to  find  the  original  of  this  picture, 
Dryant." 

"Yes,  captain ;  if  he  is  above  ground.  But  have  you  read 
the  statement  I  took  down  from  the  lips  of  the  young 
woman  this  morning?  You  remember  she  said  that  she 
was  a  widow." 

"Yes,  she  said  'widow' ;  she  meant  grass  widow." 
"She  said  her  husband  had  been  dead  six  months." 
"She  said  'dead';  she  meant  dead  to  her.    It  was  a  pious 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  237 

prevarication.  She  wanted  to  shield  him  from  the  penalty 
of  his  crime — 'her  husband,'  the  'father  of  her  child/  and 
all  that.  You  know  these  sort  of  women,  Dry  ant." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,  captain." 

"Now  you  must  take  this  miniature  and  have  it  photo- 
graphed, and  send  copies  to  the  police  of  the  principal  cities 
all  over  the  country.  Though  the  girl  should  continue 
reticent,  we  -will  catch  our  man  by  means  of  these  photo- 
graphs." 

Bryant  took  the  tvorytype  and  went  on  his  errand. 

So  did  he  urge  and  interest  the  photographers  at  the  es- 
tablishment which  he  favored  that  by  the  time  the  chief 
was  at  his  post  the  next  morning  the  detective  was  able  to 
lay  before  him  four  packets,  each  containing  twenty-five 
well-executed  photographs  of  the  miniature. 

More  than  three-quarters  of  these  were  soon  enveloped 
and  distributed  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  sphere,  with  let- 
ters of  instructions  to  the  police  of  other  cities. 

"Now  I  wish  you  to  take  the  ivorytype  to  the  hospital, 
and  give  it  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  that  she  may 
show  it  to  Jennie  Montgomery  for  identification.  There 
is  not  the  slightest  room  for  doubt  that  this  is  the  likeness 
of  the  miscreant  Kightly  Montgomery,  but  still  it  would  be 
satisfactory  to  have  her  identification  of  the  fellow." 

"Yes,"  said  Dryant,  and  he  went  immediately  upon  the 
errand.  He  arrived  at  the  hospital,  and  sent  an  attendant 
to  call  Nurse  Gilbert. 

The  good  woman  soon  came  into  the  visitors'  waiting 
room,  where  she  found  the  detective. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Gilbert,  how  is  the  poor  girl  this  morning?" 
he  inquired.  , 

"Famous!  The  constitution  of  that  young  person  is 
something  wonderful.  With  that  wound  in  her  breast,  and 
her  new-born  babe,  and  her  sorrow  and  her  trials,  any 
other  woman  would  have  been  dead  and  buried  by  this  time. 
But  she! — why,  she  is  getting  along  splendidly!  The 
wound  is  healing,  the  fever  has  left  her,  she  is  not  fretting 
about  anything,  and  seems  to  care  for  nothing  under  the 
Bun  but  her  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert:  and  then,  being  a  fat 
little  woman,  she  stopped  talking  to  recover  her  breath. 

"It  is  queer.  No  heart-break  about  her  for  being  de- 
ceived and  deserted." 


238  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  is  wrapped  up  in  her  baby.  The 
sun  and  moon  rise  and  set  with  the  baby  I  have  heard 
about  babies  cutting  daddies  out  before,  but  I  never  saw 
such  a  complete  example  of  it  as  this." 

"I  have  got  something  to  show  you,  Mrs.  Gilbert/'  said 
the  detective,  taking  the  miniature  from  his  pocket. 

"Eh!    What  is  it?"  eagerly  inquired  the  nurse. 

"It's  a  picture  of 

"  The  ranting  dog,  the  daddy  o'  it.' " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  the  nurse,  who  had 
never  even  heard  of  Robert  Burns. 

"I  mean  a  miniature  of  Kightly  Montgomery,  the  scoun- 
drel who  tried  to  kill  his  young  wife." 

"Oh,  let  me  see  it!" 

Dryant  passed  on  the  miniature. 

"And  what  a  pity!  Such  a  handsome  man!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  gazing  admiringly  on  the  miniature. 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  contempt,  and  then 
said: 

"I  wish  you  to  show  that  picture  to  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
and  ask  her  whose  it  is." 

"Yes,  I  will.  But  do  you  intend  to  come  up  into  the 
ward  and  eavesdrop  to  listen  to  every  word  she  has  to  say 
to  me,  though  she  doesn't  intend  it  for  you  to  hear?" 
rather  sarcastically  inquired  the  nurse. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  do,  if  the  doctor  will  let  me.  Mine  is  not 
a  very  pleasant  duty,  Mrs.  Gilbert,  but  the  ends  of  justice 
must  be  served,"  said  the  detective,  deprecatingly. 

"And  the  ends  of  justice  is  to  get  the  'original,'  as  you 
call  it,  of  this  picture  into  the  State  prison  for  ten  or 
twenty  years  or  so?" 

"Precisely." 

"And  he  such  a  handsome  man !  She'll  never  do  it,  Mr. 
Officer,  never !  She'll  never  give  him  away,  never !  You 
may  lay  in  wait  and  listen,  and  I  may  coax,  and  argue,  and 
cross-question  until  doomsday,  but  she  will  never  give  him 
up — never !" 

"I  hope  you  are  not  taking  sides  with  such  a  villain,  Mrs. 
Gilbert,"  gravely  observed  the  detective. 

"Who?    I?    Never!    You  know  I  tried  my  best  to  make 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  239 

her  give  him  up,  and  even  to  trap  her  into  doing  it.  But 
then,  it  is  true,  I  did  not  know  he  was — such  a  handsome 
man!" 

"Where's  the  doctor?"  abruptly  inquired  the  disgusted 
officer. 

"In  his  office  there.    You  know  where  to  find  him." 

Dryant  crossed  the  room  and  the  hall,  and  went  into  the 
doctor's  office,  explained  his  errand,  made  his  request  and 
obtained  leave  to  go  into  the  ward  where  pretty  Jennie 
Montgomery  lay  recovering  her  strength  and  rejoicing  in 
her  babe. 

He  then  rejoined  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  both  west  up  to  the 
ward.  The  detective  came  in,  keeping  close  to  the  north 
wall,  out  of  the  range  of  Jennie  Montgomery's  vision. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  went  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Feeling  pretty  well,  still,  dear?"  inquired  the  nurse. 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  very  well,"  smiled  Jennie. 

"And  baby?" 

"  Sleeping  so  sweetly.  Ah,  nurse,  how  came  I  to  be  so 
blessed  as  to  have  a  baby?  What  is  a  fortune  compared 
to  a  baby  ?  Ah !  what  is  a  kingdom  compared  to  a  baby  ? 
Nurse,  I  mean  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  from  this  day,  and 
try  to  be  worthy  of  my  baby,"  said  Jennie,  her  face  bright 
with  smiles  and  tears. 

"  'A  new  leaf/  honey.    Why,  I  hope 

"Oh,  I  haven't  been  so  very,  very  wicked,  nurse-  But  I 
have  been  vain,  and  selfish,  and  ungrateful  to  my  own  dear 
parents.  I  never  knew  how  much  so  until  this  little  angel 
came  from  heaven  to  enlighten  me." 

"I  have  got  something  to  show  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert, 
taking  the  miniature  f rcm  its  case. 

But  Jennie  scarcely  heard  her.  She  was  absorbed  in  her 
own  thoughts. 

"Nurse,"  she  said,  "you  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and 
I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I  want  to  confess  to  you, 
and  get  it  off  my  mind.  Nurse,  I  ran  away  to  get  married 
— ran  away  from  my  parents — from  my  dear  father,  who 
loved  me  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  from  my  darling, 
tender,  loving  mother,  who  loved  me — who  loved  me  as  I 
love  my  precious  baby.  Oh,  after  all,  I  have  been  very, 
very,  very  wicked,"  said  Jennie,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 


840  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  dear.  It's  no  more  than  what  I 
thought;  no,  nor  as  much  as  I  feared.  There's  many  and 
many  a  foolish  girl  has  done  the  same,  poor  child,  and  rued 
it  all  her  life.  But  you,  when  you  get  well,  can  go  back  to 
your  father  and  mother  and  be  forgiven ;  for  surely  if  the 
prodigal  son  was  forgiven  for  going  away  and  wasting  his 
substance  in  riotous  living,  a  poor,  little  prodigal  daughter 
might  be  pardoned  for  being  prodigal  only  of  her  heart's 
love,  poor  thing." 

"They  have  forgiven  me.  I  wrote  to  them  from  Scot- 
land, where  I  was  married.  And,  oh,  such  a  loving  letter 
they  wrote  back.  Not  asking  me  to  leave  my  husband  and 
return  to  them — they  never  would  have  done  that ;  but  for- 
giving both  of  us,  and  asking  us  to  come  back.  But  Kightly 
said  he  had  business  in  London,  and  would  not  take  me 
back,  and  so  I  have  never  seen  them  since.  But  I  have 
written  to  them  regularly,  though  I  have  never  told  them 
the  straits  to  which  I  have  been  reduced.  They  think  that 
my  husband  has  been  with  me  all  this  time," 

"But  why  didn't  you  go  back  alone  to  see  your  parents,  if 
he  would  not  go  with  you  ?" 

"Because  I  was  so  infatuated  with  him  that  I  wouldn't 
leave  him,  even  for  a  day,  to  run  down  to  see  them.  And 
when  he  left  London,  I  followed  him." 

"And  you  followed  him  to  this  country,"  said  the  nurse. 

The  young  wife  started,  looked  up  suddenly,  but  made  no 
reply.  She  seemed  to  realize  that  she  had  fallen  into  a 
trap. 

"And  you  followed  him  to  this  country?" 

"I  cannot  answer  that  question.  I  am  very  grateful  to 
you,  nurse,  but  I  cannot  answer  every  question  you  ask 
me." 

"Well,  anyway,  dear,  if  you  haven't  got  him " 

"I  told  you  I  lost  iny  husband  six  months  ago,"  said 
Jennie. 

"I  know  you  did,  dear.  But  if  you  have  lost  the  father, 
you  have  got  the  child." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  heavenly  baby !" 

"And  you  have  got  his  miniature.  See  here !"  said  the 
nurse,  holding  the  ivorytype  before  Jennie's  eyes,  while  the 
detective,  from  his  lurking  place,  leaned  forward  to  catch, 
if  possible,  a  glimpse  of  the  girl's  face. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  241 

She  was  staring  at  the  ivorytype  in  silence.  Suddenly 
she  seized  it,  and  demanded : 

"Where  did  you  get  this?" 

"It  came  with  your  things  from  Vevay  Street." 

"But  who  dared  to  meddle  with  my  things?" 

"The  police,  my  dear.  It  was  their  duty ;  but  your  prop- 
erty is  safe  in  their  hands;  and  I  brought  you  the  picture 
of  your  husband,  thinking,  you  might  like  to  have  it  with 
you." 

"How  do  you  know  this  is  a  picture  of  my  husband?" 
demanded  Jennie,  with  a  startled  look. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  it  is.  You  wouldn't  be  keeping  the  minia- 
ture of  any  other  man  but  your  husband." 

Jennie  was  silent.  She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  case, 
put  the  miniature  in  it,  clasped  it,  and  put  it — not  under 
her  pillow,  from  whence  it  might  be  abstracted,  but  under 
the  coverlets,  in  the  bed  with  her. 

"It  is  the  picture  of  your  husband,  is  it  not?"  persisted 
the  nurse. 

"I  decline  to  answer.  You  have  all  been  very  good  to 
me,  and  have  saved  my  life  and  my  precious  baby's  life, 
and  the  Lord  knows  that  I  am  very,  very  grateful.  But  I 
say  it  is  not  fair  to  search  my  boxes  and  ferret  out  my 
keepsakes,  and  try  to  entrap  me  into  saying  things.  And 
my  poor  brain  so  weak,  too,  from  all  I  have  gone  through, 
that  I  have  no  more  sense  than  a  kitten,"  said  the  perse- 
cuted patient,  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"Indeed,  dear,  I  don't  want  to  entrap  you,  and  I  promise 
you  this:  that  I  will  not  ask  you  another  question  about 
anything  except  your  state  of  health,  which  it  is  my  duty 
to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  sympathetically. 

Jennie  held  out  her  hand,  and  said : 

"I  am  not  blaming  you,  nor  any  of  the  hospital  people. 
I  should  be  a  thankless  wretch  to  do  that.  Or  to  feel  any- 
thing but  the  deepest,  everlasting  gratitude  to  them  that 
saved  my  life  and  my  precious  baby's  and  saved  my  soul  as 
well !  For,  oh,  if  I  had  died  in  a  rage  that  night !  Oh,  I 
was  in  a  hateful,  fiendish  temper  that  night  when  I  met — 
There!  I  must  not  speak  another  word.  I  must  shut  up 
my  lips  tight,"  said  Jennie.  And  she  turned  away  her 
head  and  grasped  the  miniature  case  under  the  coverlet. 

"I  will  leave  you  to  take  some  rest,  dear.    Try  to  sleep," 


242  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  as  she  straightened  the  bedclothes,  and 
then  turned  to  leave  the  ward. 

At  the  door  she  was  joined  by  the  officer. 

"Well,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.  You  heard  all  that 
passed,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  with  some  asperity. 

"Yes,  I  am  satisfied.  Although  she  would  not  verbally 
admit  that  her  husband  was  the  murderous  assailant  and 
the  original  of  that  picture,  yet  every  tone  and  look  testified 
to  the  facts,"  replied  Dryant,  putting  his  notebook  and 
pencil  in  his  pocket. 

"  She  will  not  let  you  have  the  miniature  again,"  said  the 
nurse,  with  some  satisfaction. 

"We  do  not  want  it,"  retorted  the  officer,  with  even  more 
satisfaction,  thinking  of  the  hundred  perfect  photos  in  the 
possession  of  the  police  and  distributed  all  over  the  country. 

He  left  the  hospital  and  made  his  report  at  police  head- 
quarters. 

Prompt  measures  were  taken.  A  watch  was  placed  at  the 
entrance  and  exit  of  every  railway  station  and  steamboat 
landing  in  the  city,  and  every  police  officer  was  furnished 
with  a  photograph  of  the  man  wanted.  And  it  was  not 
many  hours  before  an  arrest  was  made  which  created  a 
sensation. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

"WHAT  DOES  THIS  MEAN?" 

ON  the  morning  when  Cleve  Stuart  took  an  early  leave 
of  his  wife  and  started  on  the  first  train  for  New  York, 
there  occurred  on  the  road  an  accident  which  was  instantly 
telegraphed  up  and  down  the  line,  and  stopped  all  travel 
on  the  particular  rails  for  an  hour. 

The  obstruction  was  at  last  removed  and  the  cars  went 
on.  But  they  reached  the  city  an  hour  and  ten  minutes 
behind  time. 

Cleve  Stuart  hastened  from  the  train  to  a  Fourth  Avenue 
car  and  rode  down  as  far  as  Chatham  Street.  There  he  got 
out/ and  went  in  search  of  a  pawnbroker's  shop.  He  had 
determined  not  to  sell  his  watch.  He  could  not  bear  to  part 
with  an  heirloom  left  him  by  his  father.  He  resolved  to 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  243 

pawn  it,  and,  if  necessary,  everything  else  that  he  could 
part  with  to  raise  money  to  pay  his  last  month's  board  and 
bring  his  wife  to  the  city. 

He  passed  one  or  two  shops,  discouraged  by  their  grimy 
and  poverty-stricken  appearance ;  but  at  last  he  found  one 
that  looked  a  little  more  respectable,  and  he  entered  it. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  shop  at  the  time  The  pawn- 
broker, standing  behind  the  counter,  was  a  decent-looking 
old  man. 

Cleve  Stuart  bowed — he  always  paid  respect  to  age — and 
laid  his  watch  and  chain  on  the  counter,  and  asked : 

"How  much  will  you  lend  me  on  this?" 

The  pawnbroker  took  it  up,  opened  it  on  both  sides  and 
examined  it  carefully.  It  was  a  heavy  gold  watch  of  the 
very  finest  workmanship,  thickly  studded  with  costly  gems. 
There  was  a  legend  in  the  family  that  it  had  once  belonged 
to  the  "Young  Pretender"  and  it  was  valued  at  two  hun- 
dred guineas.  Cleve  Stuart  thought  it  might  be  worth  from 
five  to  seven  hundred  dollars.  The  pawnbroker  was  a  con- 
noisseur. Perhaps  he  knew  the  value  of  that  watch  better 
than  the  owner  did;  perhaps  he  appreciated  it  higher.  But 
he  was  discreet,  and  he  answered  Cleve  Stuart  by  another 
question : 

'  How  much  do  you  want  for  it  ?" 

'  Just  as  much  as  you  can  possibly  lend  me." 

'One  hundred  dollars." 

'The  jewels  alone  are  worth  twice  that  sum,"  said  Cleve. 

'But  I  am  not  buying  the  bauble,"  replied  the  pawn- 
broker. 

Stuart  took  up  his  watch  and  turned  to  leave  the  shop. 

"If  you  don't  succeed  in  getting  more  money  on  it,  please 
come  back  to  me,  sir.  I  would  like  to  lend  you  a  hundred 
on  it,  though  I  cannot  lend  you  more." 

"Very  well,  if  I  cannot  do  better  I  will  return  here." 

And  Stuart  went  out  into  the  street. 

And  nearly  all  that  day  he  spent  in  going  from  one 
pawnshop  to  another  in  search  of  better  terms,  but  without 
success.  The  highest  offered  him  was  eighty  dollars,  and 
at  this  crisis  of  his  affairs  twenty  more  was  an  object.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  he  returned  to  the  first  shop. 

"So  you  have  come  back,"  said  the  pawnbroker.  "I 
thought  you  would." 


£44  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Stuart  laid  the  jeweled  watch  that  had  belonged  to  the 
"Young  Pretender"  down  on  the  counter,  and  received  the 
promised  money  and  the  ticket. 

Then  he  drew  a  seal  ring  from  the  little  finger  of  his  left 
hand  and  laid  it  down,  asking: 

"How  much  will  you  lend  on  that?" 

The  pawnbroker  took  up  the  ring  and  examined  it  care- 
fully. It  was  a  richly  chased,  heavy  gold  ring,  set  with  fine 
topaz,  on  which  was  engraved  the  letter  S,  with  the  family 
crest,  a  lion  passant. 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  inquired  the  money-lender, 
with  his  invariable  parrying  question. 

"As  in  the  case  of  the  last  item — as  much  as  you  can 
possibly  lend  me  on  it." 

"Five  dollars." 

"It  is  worth  five  times  as  much." 

"To  the  owner,  doubtless,  but  the  engraved  initial  and 
crest  spoils  it  for  anybody  else.  I  cannot  advance  more 
than  five  dollars  on  it." 

"Very  well;  then  take  it,"  said  Stuart,  for  he  was  now 
in  a  desperate  hurry  to  catch  the  next  train. 

The  pawnbroker  laid  down  a  greenback  and  a  ticket, 
which  Stuart  seized  and  thrust  into  his  pocket.  He  hurried 
out  of  the  shop. 

He  wanted  to  buy  something  to  take  to  Palma ;  but  there 
was  no  time.  He  was  also  very  hungry,  for  he  had  eaten 
nothing  since  the  seven  o'clock  breakfast  at  Lull's;  but 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  if  he  was  to  catch  the  train. 

He  hailed  a  Fourth  Avenue  car,  and  boarded  it,  and  rode 
up  to  the  Grand  Central  Depot.  He  had  a  return  ticket,  so 
he  rushed  into  the  station  past  the  ticket  office,  and  to  the 
gate,  just  to  have  it  slammed  in  his  face!  The  7  P.  M. 
train  was  starting. 

If  there  is  an  aggravation  more  aggravating  than  any 
other  aggravation  in  this  world  it  is  to  have  those  gates 
slammed  in  one's  face  just  as  one  has  arrived  out  of  breath 
to  catch  that  train  which  is  just  off. 

Stuart  turned  back,  and  threw  himself  upon  one  of  the 
seats  to  recover  breath.  There  was  quite  a  large  number 
of  people  disappointed  as  well  as  himself. 

"And  now  there  is  no  other  train  that  stops  at  Lull's 
until  nine-thirty.  Two  hours  and  a  half  to  wait.  And 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  245 

Palma  expects  me  by  this  train.  She  must  be  disappointed 
and  may  be  anxious."  Then  he  remembered  her  parting 
words  : 

"Dear  Cleve,  you  have  never  been  to  the  city  for  a  day 
since  we  married.  Now  you  go  on  business;  but  please 
amuse  yourself;  don't  hurry  back  on  my  account;  go  to 
the  opera,  or  any  other  nice  place,  even  if  you  have  to  stay 
all  night  at  a  hotel.  I  rfhall  not  be  uneasy." 

These,  or  words  to  this  effect,  had  been  her  last  charge. 

"Dear,  confiding,  unselfish  child !  But  she  will  be 
uneasy  all  the  same.  I  must  go  and  telegraph  her.  I  hope 
the  office  will  not  be  closed  at  the  station,  and  that  they  will 
send  a  messenger  up  to  the  house  to-night  with  the  dis- 
patch. But  the  house  is  three  miles  over  the  hills !"  he 
reflected,  with  a  sigh. 

Nevertheless,  he  hurried  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent 
the  following  dispatch : 

"To  Mrs.  Cleve  Stuart,  Pine  Mountain  House,  Lull's 
station,  H.  E.  B.  E.  Missed  the  7  P.  M.  Will  come  by  the 
9.30.  C.  S." 

"Two  hours  and  a  quarter  still  to  wait!  If  it  had  not 
been  for  that  infernal  breakdown  on  the  rails  which  delayed 
us  for  an  hour,  I  should  have  had  time  to  get  through  all 
my  business  and  to  catch  my  train,"  he  growled,  as  he  left 
the  office. 

Stuart  was  very  hungry,  and  fasting  had  never  been  a 
means  of  grace  with  hiin. 

He  went  into  the  nearest  restaurant,  sat  down  at  a  table, 
and  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  porterhouse  beefsteak. 
In  a  reasonable  time  they  were  brought  him,  with  all  the 
accessories  of  fried  potatoes,  rolls,  butter,  pickles  and  so 
forth. 

He  made  a  very  satisfactory  supper  off  these,  paid  his 
bill,  and  looked  at  his  watch — not  the  pretender's  watch, 
but  a  modest  little  white-faced  timepiece  held  by  a  black 
silk  cord. 

"An  hour  and  three-quarters  still  to  wait!  I  will  have 
time  to  go  down  Broadway  and  buy  something  for  little 
Palma,"  he  said  to  himself,  feeling  in  a  much  more  amiable 
humor  than  he  did  when  he  was  fasting  and  hungry. 


246  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  hailed  a  Broadway  stage  and  rode  down  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  all  the  great  dry  goods  and  fancy  bazars,  and 
got  out  at  one  of  them. 

Walked  through  all  the  dazzling  and  bewitching  rooms; 
did  not  wonder  that  women  lost  their  heads  and  went  into 
ruinous  extravagances  in  such  places ;  admired  and  coveted 
— for  Palma — many  fine  things ;  but  ended  in  buying  a  box 
of  pretty  pocket  handkerchiefs. 

Then  he  looked  at  his  watch  again.  It  was  just  half- 
past  eight. 

"An  hour  yet  to  wait.  How  slowly  time  passes  when  one 
is  simply  waiting  for  a  train,  with  nothing  on  earth  to  do !" 

Then  he  strolled  into  the  reading  room  of  a  hotel  near 
at  hand.  The  evening  papers  lay  on  all  the  tables,  or  were 
in  the  hands  of  the  occupants. 

Cleve  Stuart  took  up  one — the  Vigil — and  sat  down  to 
look  over  it.  There  was  no  political  question  at  issue  just 
then.  The  financial  column  had  no  attraction  for  the  im- 
pecunious reader.  He  turned  to  the  general  news  items, 
and  his  eyes  were  first  caught  by  the  following  paragraph : 

"A  CLEW  TO  THE  QUARRY  STREET  MYSTERY — The  police 
'have  obtained  a  certain  clew  to  the  assassin  of  the  girl, 
Jennie  Montgomery,  who  is  now  pronounced  out  of  danger, 
but  firmly  refuses  to  give  the  name  of  her  would-be  mur- 
derer, who  is  supposed  to  be  a  certain  Rightly  Montgomery, 
<an  English  adventurer  of  many  aliases." 

Stuart  read  that  carelessly,  little  knowing  how  heavy  a 
stake  he  had  in  the  matter.  There  were  so  many  other 
assaults,  homicides,  tragedies,  reported  in  that  paper,  and 
in  every  paper,  that  one  more  or  less  seemed  to  make  little 
difference. 

Presently  he  walked  out,  hailed  a  Broadway  stage,  and 
rode  up  to  the  depot,  saying  to  himself  that  he  had  as  well 
wait  the  remaining  half  hour  there  as  elsewhere,  and  that 
by  so  doing  he  would  be  sure  to  catch  the  nine-thirty. 

He  entered  the  waiting-room,  bought  another  paper  from 
the  news  counter,  and  sat  down  under  a  gas  jet  to  read  it. 

His  face  was  in  a  good  light  from  above,  such  as  a 
photographer  uses  in  taking  his  pictures. 

Stuart  did  not  notice  that  there  were  two  police  officers 
standing  opposite  to  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  247 

curiously  watching  him,  and  examining  a  photograph, 
which  they  passed  from  one  to  the  other. 

Stuart  laid  down  his  paper  for  a  moment,  and  his  face 
stood  out  in  a  brighter  light. 

The  two  policemen  compared  the  face  and  the  photo- 
graph. 

"That  is  the  man,"  said  Bryant,  who  was  one  of  them. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  assented  his  companion. 

Again  they  compared  the  photograph  with  the  face.  The 
likeness  between  the  two  was  perfect,  though  it  was  entirely 
accidental. 

At  this  moment  the  gates  were  thrown  open  to  the  train, 
and  all  the  people  who  were  going  by  it  hurried  thither. 

The  two  policemen  walked  toward  their  prey. 

Stuart,  unconscious  of  the  fate  awaiting  him,  arose, 
rolled  his  paper  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  put  on  his  hat, 
took  up  his  box  of  handkerchiefs,  and  prepared  to  walk 
toward  the  gate.  Then  he  was  suddenly  stopped.  A  police- 
man's hand  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

He  turned  sharply,  surprised  and  angry,  and  confronted 
the  officer,  who  said : 

"Kightly  Montgomery,  you  are  wanted!" 

"What  does  this  mean?"  haughtily  demanded  Stuart, 
dashing  off  the  contaminating  hand. 

"I  arrest  you  for  assault,  with  intent  to  kill  your  wife, 
Jennie  Montgomery !" 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

"THOU  ART  THE  MAN" 

"ARRESTED  ?"  I !  For  assault,  with  intent  to  kill — my 
wife !"  exclaimed  Cleve  Stuart,  staring  at  the  policeman  in 
extreme  amazement.  "Why,  man,  are  you  mad  or " 

Then  the  truth  suddenly  dawned  upon  him.  He  was 
mistaken  for  the  would-be  murderer  of  Jennie  Mont- 
gomery, of  whose  pursuit  he  had  read  in  that  evening's 
paper.  He  laughed  a  little,  and  said,  quietly : 

"You  are  mistaken,  officer.    I " 

"  I  don't  think  we  are,  captain.  I  think  you  are  our  man. 
We  want  you  to  answer  the  charge  of  a  felonious  assault, 


248  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

with  intent  to  kill  your  wife.  If  you  are  the  gentleman 
you  look  to  be,  you  will  come  along  with  us  quietly,  with- 
out more  words,"  said  Bryant,  persuasively. 

"But,  man,  I  am  not  Capt.  Kightly  Montgomery,  I  tell 
you.  Nor  Capt.  Anybody  else.  I  am  plain  Cleve  Stuart. 
Nor  has  my  wife  been  assaulted  by  anyone.  She  is  alive 
and  well.  And  I  was  on  my  way  to  her  when  you  stopped 
me — confound  you !"  said  the  young  man,  half -amused  and 
half-annoyed  at  a  mistake  that  was  persisted  in — one  that 
had  made  him  miss  his  train,  and  yet  that  must,  he  thought, 
be  set  right  in  a  few  minutes. 

"You  must  prove  that,  captain,  before  we  can  set  you  at 
liberty." 

"Take  me  before  some  justice  of  the  peace,  then,  imme- 
diately. I  can  easily  prove  what  I  say." 

"Sorry  to  incommode  you,  captain,  but  the  police  courts 
are  all  closed,  and  will  not  be  opened  until  the  usual  hour 
to-morrow." 

"Then  what  in  the  demon  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"Sorry  to  inconvenience  you,  captain,  but  we  shall  have 
to  lock  you  up  until  the  courts  are  opend  to-morrow." 

"But  I  am  not "  began  Stuart;  and  then,  remember- 
ing how  useless  and  how  childish  it  seemed  to  deny  the 
false  identity  they  had  fixed  upon  him,  he  stopped  and 
held  his  peace. 

"And  I  reckon  we  had  better  be  moving  on  now,"  con- 
tinued Bryant. 

By  this  time  a  small  crowd  had  gathered.  All  the  people 
who  had  remained  in  the  waiting  room  after  the  departure 
of  the  last  train  were  standing  around  the  little  group,  and 
they  were  all  staring  and  whispering,  and  getting  the  facts 
mixed,  as  busy  people  will  who  read  the  daily  record  of 
crime  in  the  newspapers,  and  have,  besides,  all  their  own 
private  affairs  to  think  of. 

"He's  the  cashier  of  that  savings  bank  who  ran  away 
with  the  money,"  whispered  one. 

"The  man  who  poisoned  his  father-in-law,  to  get  his 
cash." 

"The  fellow  who  killed  his  wife  on  Quarry  Street." 

And  so  on. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  249 

"Come!"  said  Dry  ant,  drawing  the  young  man's  hand 
in  a  friendly  manner  through  his  arm. 

And  Stuart,  not  unwilling  to  escape  the  rude  crowd,  fol- 
lowed with  the  officers. 

"Policemen,  this  mistake  will  be  set  right  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"Of  course,  sir,"  said  Grey,  sarcastically. 

"Let  us  hope  so,  sir,"  said  Dryant,  sincerely. 

"But  in  the  meantime  where  am  I  to  pass  the  night?" 
iemanded  Stuart. 

"At  police  headquarters,  captain." 

"Then  I  ask  it  as  a  favor — for  which  I  am  willing  to 
pay  well,  if  necessary — that  you  will  give  me  a  clean  bed, 
in  a  cell  to  myself/'  said  the  young  man,  not  dreading  false 
accusation  or  imprisonment  so  much  as — squalor ! 

"All  right,  captain!  You  shall  have  all  that,  'without 
money  and  without  price,' "  said  Dryant,  heartily,  for  the 
good  fellow  began  to  think  that,  after  all,  a  mistake  might 
have  been  made;  though  it  would  never  do  for  him  now  to 
act  upon  that  afterthought,  and  release  his  prisoner,  on 
whom  he  kept  a  firm  but  unobtrusive  hold  as  they  left  the 
depot. 

The  crowd  still  whispering,  following  and  making  mis- 
takes. 

To  escape  the  nuisance  the  policemen  hailed  a  carriage 
and  put  their  prisoner  inside. 

Dryant  took  his  seat  beside  young  Stuart. 

Grey  mounted  beside  the  hackman. 

"Will  you  kindly  stop  at  the  next  telegraph  office  I 
must  send  a  dispatch  to  my  wife.  She  expects  me  by  the 
train  that  has  just  left,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Certainly,  captain !  Hello !  Grey !  Tell  the  driver  to 
pull  up  at  the  telegraph  office  across  the  street  there !  All 
light,  captain,"  cordially  replied  Dryant. 

"And  will  you  do  me  another  favor?"  inquired  Stuart. 

"Well,  if  I  can,  consistently  with  my  duty !  What  is  it, 
captain  ?" 

"  Cease  to  call  me  captain.  I  am  not  the  man  you  think 
me,  though  it  is  vain  to  say  so  now !  But  as  I  am  not  Capt. 
Kightly  Montgomery,  you  will  greatly  oblige  me  by  not 
calling  me  captain." 

"kQuite  so,  sir,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  prove  it 


850  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

to-morrow.  Here  we  are,  sir !  Now  maybe  you  will  not  like 
to  go  in  yourself,  under  present  circumstances.  If  you 
wish,  I  will  send  in  for  a  blank,  and  you  can  write  your 
telegram  here,"  said  Dryant,  as  the  hack  drew  up  before  the 
office. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Stuart,  assenting  to  the  proposal,  as 
the  second  policeman  came  down  from  his  seat  and  opened 
the  hack  door. 

"What's  up  now?  Do  you  want  to  send  a  telegram, 
Dryant?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes  I"  said  Dryant.  "Go  in  and  get  a  form  and  bring 
it  here." 

Grey  darted  into  the  office,  and  soon  returned  with  a  pad 
of  blanks  and  a  black  lead  pencil,  which  he  handed  to 
Dryant. 

"Here  you  are,  cap — sir !  I  will  strike  a  match  taper  for 
you  to  see  to  write  by,"  said  Dryant,  passing  the  articles 
over  to  his  prisoner,  and  then  striking  a  wax  light,  and 
holding  it  near  the  writer. 

Stuart  wrote: 

"To  Mrs.  Cleve  Stuart,  Pine  Mountain  House,  Lull's 
Station,  H.  K.  E.  B.— Am  unexpectedly  detained.  Will  re- 
turn to-morrow  noon.  C.  S." 

He  passed  the  pencil  and  pad,  with  the  dispatch,  over  to 
Dryant,  who  read  it,  and  then  handed  it  to  Grey,  who  also 
read  it  and  observed: 

"Well,  he's  a  cool  hand!  He  acts  out  his  part.  But 
maybe  he  has  got  a  wife  at  Lull's,  also." 

"Here  is  the  money  to  pay  for  it,"  said  Stuart,  taking  a 
dollar  note  from  his  pocketbook,  and  handing  it  to  Grey, 
who  thereupon  turned  and  went  into  the  office. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back,  mounted  the  box,  and 
drove  off  to  the  police  headquarters. 

Arrived  there,  young  Stuart  was  taken  into  the  chiefs 
office,  and  given  a  seat. 

Then  Dryant  said: 

"Very  sorry,  cap — sir!  But  you  know,  of  course,  the 
regulations.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  turn  out  your 
pockets  ?" 

Cleve  Stuart's  face  crimsoned  to  the  edges  of  his  hair; 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  251 

his  impulse  was  to  resist,  to  level  the  officer  who  had  offered 
this  affront.  But  he  remembered  how  vain  and  foolish 
would  be  any  such  resistance  to  lawful  authority,  and  he 
yielded  in  silence. 

"Item — one  portemonncde,  containing  one  hundred  and 
two  dollars  in  greenbacks,  and  some  silver  change,"  said 
Dry  ant,  checking  off  a  list,  as  Stuart  emptied  his  pockets 
of  their  contents.  "Item — one  bunch  of  small  keys;  one 
memorandum  book,  blank;  one  cigar  case,  two  pawn 
tickets !" 

These  last  items  clearly  told  on  Cleve  Stuart.  Dryant's 
face  changed.  "After  all,  the  young  man  was  "a  bad  lot." 
He  had  been  to  the  pawnbroker's.  It  was.  therefore,  more 
than  probable  that  he  had  killed  or  attempted  to  kill  his 
wife,  or  one  of  his  wives.  If  a  poor,  starving  ragamuffin 
were  found  with  pawn  tickets  on  his  person,  the  case  might 
be  easily  understood  as  one  of  extreme  necessity ;  but  for  a 
gentlemanly-looking  man,  in  a  fashionably-cut  suit  of 
clothes,  to  be  found  with  pawn  tickets  ia  his  pocket,  clearly 
convicted  him,  as  a  member  of  the  swell  mob,  a  thief  possi- 
bly, a  swindler  probably,  an  intentional  murderer  certainly. 

The  police  took  possession  of  everything  found  in  the 
pockets  of  the  prisoner,  and  made  a  list  and  record  of  them. 

Yet,  though  Dryant  was  now  inclined  to  think  the  very 
worst  of  the  accused  man,  he  could  not  help  pitying  him  as 
if  he  were  innocent.  So  much  truer  are  often  the  instincts 
of  the  heart  than  the  reasoning  of  the  brain. 

"It  will  be  all  right  in  the  morning,  cap — sir,  I  hope. 
And  this  is  only  for  a  night/'  he  said,  as  he  led  his  prisoner 
down  to  the  cells,  and  unlocked  one  of  them. 

"Yes,  my  friend;  but  do  you  understand  what  it  is  to  a? 
decent  man  to  be  locked  up  in  one  of  these,  even  for  a 
night  ?"  inquired  Stuart,  as  he  entered  the  cell. 

"Pretty  bad,  sir,  I  can  well  believe;  but  you  are  not  the 
first  gentleman,  nor  the  first  innocent  man,  I  have  had  to 
turn  the  key  on.  And  the  place  is  clean  and  solitary  as 
you  wished,"  replied  Dryant. 

"Yes,  I  see  it  is,  and  thank  you,"  replied  Stuart,  as  he 
seated  himself  on  the  side  of  the  hard  and  narrow  bunk. 

"And  now,  if  there's  anything  I  can  get  for  you  before  I 
go,  this  is  the  time  to  name  it;  for  it  is  after  ten  o'clock, 
and  I  am  going  home." 


252  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"There  is  nothing,  thank  you." 

"Then,  good-night ;  and  I  wish  you  well  out  of  this." 

"Thank  you.     Good-night,"  said  Stuart. 

The  policeman  locked  the  cell  door,  and  left  the  hall, 
giving  the  key  to  the  night  watchman  as  he  passed. 

Cleve  Stuart  looked  around  him. 

Yes,  the  cell  was  clean;  the  walls  newly  whitewashed, 
and  smelling  of  fresh  lime;  floor  newly  scrubbed,  and  smell- 
ing of  suds;  grated  iron  door  in  front;  grated  hole  in  the 
wall  by  way  of  a  window  in  the  back ;  a  hard,  narrow  bunk, 
with  a  hard,  narrower  mattress,  covered  with  a  clean,  coarse 
blanket.  That  was  all. 

"Only  the  dead  are  safe.  Who  can  say  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth?  If  anyone  had  told  me  this  morning  that  I 
should  spend  this  night  in  prison  on  a  criminal  charge,  I 
should  have  hooted  at  him,  laughed  him  to  scorn,  or 
knocked  him  down,  as  the  circumstances  might  have  re- 
quired. Yet  here  I  am.  Come,  Cleve,  my  boy,  be  a  man ! 
It  is  only  for  a  night,  and  perhaps  the  experience  may  be 
worth  the  inconvenience,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  laugh. 
Then  he  looked  through  his  grated  door  out  upon  a  lobby, 
lighted  by  a  large  iron  gasolier,  that  hung  from  the  ceiling 
nearly  opposite  his  cell.  Under  this  a  watchman  sat  read- 
ing an  evening  paper.  The  floor  was  of  flagstones,  the 
walls  of  brick,  whitewashed,  and  with  a  row  of  grated  iron 
doors  on  each  side,  leading  into  cells  similar  to  the  one 
occupied  by  Stuart,  and  all  lighted  through  the  gratings  by 
the  gasolier  in  the  midst. 

Cleve  Stuart  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  threw  himself  on  the 
outside  of  the  bed.  The  night  was  warm,  but  the  cell  was 
well  ventilated  through  its  grated  door  and  window, 

Stuart  was  not  at  all  anxious  on  his  own  account.  He 
knew  he  was  safe,  and  might  have  slept  but  for  the  novelty 
of  his  position  and  the  constant  disturbances  caused  by  the 
bringing  in  of  prisoners,  that  went  on  all  through  the 
night.  These  were  generally  what  the  watchman  on  duty 
called  D.  D.'s.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  in  this  case  the 
initials  did  not  represent  a  theological  college  degree,  but 
quite  an  opposite  condition — of  offense  against  law  and 
religion ;  in  short,  "drunk  and  disorderly." 

Most  of  these  D.  D/s  continued  to  be  D.  D.'s  after  their 
incarceration;  and  some  sang  roaring,  convivial  songs,  and. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  253 

some  cursed  and  swore,  while  others  wept  and  moaned,  and 
others  slept  heavily  and  snored  sonorously. 

Novel  and  revolting  as  the  scene  was,  it  was  not  alto- 
gether uninteresting  or  uninstructive  as  one  phase  of  life 
to  a  student  of  human  nature. 

So  the  wakeful  hours  of  that  noisy  night  wore  slowly 
away. 

And,  meanwhile,  how  fared  it  with  the  anxiously  waiting 
young  wife  at  the  Pine  Mountain  House? 


CHAPTER   XXVII 
A  NIGHT'S  MYSTERY 

WHEN  Palma  was  left  alone  on  the  morning  of  Cleve's 
departure  for  the  city,  she  found  the  time  pass  heavily. 

She  looked  over  all  the  contents  of  the  bureau,  the  ward- 
robe and  the  big  traveling  trunk,  but  found  not  a  stitch 
to  set  in  anything.  It  was  an  easy  matter  to  keep  the 
clothes  of  two  moderate  young  people  in  order,  when  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do,  that  Mrs.  Pole  had  undertaken  and 
effected  all  that,  and  had  much  leisure  on  her  hands  besides. 

Palma  could  not  even  knit,  for  all  her  wool  was  used  up ; 
nor  read,  for  she  had  no  new  books  nor  papers. 

Perhaps  it  was  her  want  of  occupation  that  made  her 
more  observant  of  other  people;  for  when  Mrs.  Pole,  after 
having  eaten  her  breakfast  with  her  gossips,  the  house- 
keeper and  waitresses,  came  into  the  chamber,  Palma,  look- 
ing at  her,  perceived  a  pallor  on  her  face  and  a  strange 
expression  in  her  eyes  that  she  had  not  noticed  before. 

"Why,  Poley,"  she  said,  "what  is  the  matter  with  you? 
Are  you  not  well?" 

"Yes,  dear,  well  enough;  only  I  think  I  sleep  too  heavy, 
and  feel  kinder  queer  in  the  morning,  as  if  I  couldn't  just 
remember  at  first  where  I  was,  or  even  who  I  was,"  replied 
the  woman. 

"Why  Poley,  how  strange !  What  do  you  think  can  be 
the  cause  of  it  ?" 

"Suppers,  child !    Suppers  1" 

"Suppers!" 


254  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Yes,  honey !  Me  and  Mrs.  Mooze,  the  housekeeper,  and 
the  girls  do  have  late  suppers  in  the  dining-room,  when  all 
the  family  and  boarders  are  gone  to  bed.  It  is  after  we 
wash  up  the  general  dishes — and,  oh !  isn't  there  a  lot  of 
them !  And  then  we  eat  up  things  that  won't  be  good  the 
next  day,  like  cold  puddings  and  bits  of  pastry  and  the  like, 
because  it  is  a  sin  to  let  anything  go  to  waste.  And,  child, 
it  may  be  very  well  for  them,  they  are  so  young  and  strong ; 
even  Mrs.  Mooze  can't  be  more  than  thirty;  but  I  am  get- 
ting old  and  deliky  and  can't  stand  it,  and  am  going  to  give 
up  late  suppers  offen  cold  puddin'  and  moldy  pie  I" 

"So  I  would,  if  I  were  you,  Poley.  You  can  have  some 
milk  punch  with  me  before  you  go  to  bed.  That  won't  hurt 
you,"  said  Palma. 

"Thanky',  honey;  that  wouldn't  hurt  me,  sure.  What  do 
you  want  to  do  to-day  ?" 

"What  to  do?  I  want  to  work,  Poley.  I  despise  myself 
for  my  idleness  and  uselessness !" 

"But  you  haven't  got  anything  to  do.n 

"That's  it !  Well,  I  will  take  this  volume  of  Shakespeare 
and  go  and  sit  out  on  the  piazza  and  watch  for  the  stage  to 
come  back  from  the  depot.  If  one  has  nothing  new  to  read, 
one  can  always  fall  back  on  Shakespeare,"  said  Palma. 

And  she  took  the  book  and  walked  out,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Pole  carrying  her  shawl  and  pushing  the  easy-chair  before 
her. 

Soon  Palma  was  comfortably  seated,  had  opened  the  book 
at  random,  and  was  as  deeply  absorbed  in  the  scene  between 
Helena  and  the  Countess  of  Rousillon,  in  "All's  Well  That 
Ends'  Well,"  as  if  she  had  never  read  the  play  before. 

It  was,  as  yet,  too  early  for  many  of  the  ladies  to  come 
out  on  the  porch.  Most  of  them  had  not  yet  breakfasted ; 
for  they  were  accommodated  at  Lull's  with  the  morning 
meal  at  any  hour  between  six  and  twelve. 

Palma  sat  alone  when  the  stage  drove  up  from  the  depot, 
empty;  for  the  season  was  over  at  Lull's — at  least  the 
season  of  new  arrivals. 

"The  gentlemen  met  their  train  and  got  off  all  right?" 
inquired  Palma,  caring  but  for  one  gentleman  in  the  com- 
pany, or  in  the  world. 

"iOh,  yes,  miss — mum,  I  should  say.  They  always  does. 
iSVhat  should  hinder  of  them  ?"  laughed  John,  the  English 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  255 

emigrant  boy,  who  drove  the  stage,  as  he  turned  his  horses' 
heads  toward  the  stable. 

In  twenty  minutes,  with  fresh  horses,  he  had  to  go  and 
meet  the  boat. 

There  were  three  up  trains  and  three  down  trains  stopped 
at  Lull's  Station  every  day,  and  there  was  one  up  steamboat 
stopped  at  Lull's  Landing,  morning  and  evening.  And  the 
stage  went  to  meet  every  one  of  them,  on  the  chance  of  get- 
ting a  fare,  whether  there  should  be  any  passengers  or  not, 
all  through  the  season,  until  the  final  closing  of  the  house 
on  the  first  of  October. 

Palma  saw  the  stage  drive  off,  and  turned  her  attention 
to  Helena  and  the  countess. 

Presently  she  was  conscious  that  some  one  came  and  sat 
down  near  her. 

She  looked  up  and  &aw  a  sweet  old  lady,  for  whom  she 
had  formed  a  warm  attachment — Mrs.  Shepherd,  the  wife 
of  the  Kev.  Dr.  Shepherd  who  had  performed  the  marriage 
ceremony  between  herself — Palma — and  Cleve  Stuart. 

Mrs.  Shepherd  was  a  small,  thin  woman,  with  the  fairest 
complexion  and  the  bluest  eyes,  as  well  as  the  finest,  silver- 
iest hair  that  ever  went  with  seventy-five  years  of  age. 

She  always  dressed  in  the  softest  gray  silk  or  cashmere 
gowns,  with  a  white  Shetland  wool  shawl  around  her  shoul- 
ders, and  a  fine  lace  cap,  trimmed  with  delicate  shades  of 
pink,  blue  or  mauve  ribbon. 

She  had  now  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles  on  her 
nose,  and  a  little  basket  full  of  lightly  piled  lace  on  her  lap. 
And  both  meant  work. 

"Good-morning,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  Palma  looked  up. 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Shepherd.  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
out  this  morning." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear.  Yes,  the  fine  morning  tempted 
me;  and,  besides,  there  is  so  much  more  and  better  light 
here,  for  my  fine  work,  than  there  is  in  our  room,  where  the 
trees  on  the  outside,  though  very  cool  and  pleasant,  make 
it  a  little  too  dark  and  shady." 

"Lace-making,"  observed  Palma,  a  little  doubtfully, 
looking  at  the  fluffy  clouds  that  overflowed  the  worfebasket. 

"Oh,  no,  dear ;  lace-mending,  after  the  simplest  fashion," 
said  the  minister's  wife. 


256  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

""Oh,  do  let  me  mend  this  for  you!"  exclaimed  Palma, 
springing  up  in  her  eagerness,  and  dropping  her  book. 

"Why,  my  dear  child,  why  should  I  trouble  you?" 

"Oh,  it  will  be  no  trouble,  and  I  like  to  do  that  sort  of 
work  so  much.  I  know  every  lace  stitch,  and  can  mend 
every  break  in  the  same  stitch  of  the  pattern  that  is  broken 
so  that  it  can  never  be  detected.  Do  let  me  try !" 

For  all  answer,  and  for  all  thanks,  the  old  lady  smiled 
and  lifted  the  basket  of  lace  from  her  own  lap  and  placed 
it  on  that  of  her  companion. 

Then  she  drew  a  half-finished  stocking  from  her  pocket, 
and  began  to  knit,  watching  Palma  as  she  worked. 

•"Why,  what  a  treasure  you  would  be  to  a  lace  fancier,  my 
child !  You  fill  out  a  pattern  perfectly,  whether  it  is  a  leaf 
or  a  flower,  open  or  close  work  Now  I  know  of  but  one 
way  to  darn  lace,  and  that  is  just  as  I  should  darn  a  stock- 
ing," she  said,  at  length. 

"My  first  friend  and  second  mother,  the  late  Mrs.  Judge 
Barrn,  taught  me  all  manner  of  lace  work,"  replied  Palma, 
simply. 

"It  is  almost  a  lost  e.rt  to  know  how  to  mend  lace  as  you 
do.  Here  comes  the  stage  back  again.  I  wonder  if  there 
are  any  passengers?  No,"  said  Mrs.  Shepherd,  as  the 
vehicle  rolled  up  to  the  house,  threw  out  the  mail  bag,  and 
rolled  away  to  the  stables  to  feed  the  horses. 

The  elder  and  the  jounger  lady  sat  on  the  piazza  until 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  they  went  in  to  luncheon. 

After  that  Mrs.  Pole  took  possession  of  Palma,  and  said : 

"Now  you  have  got  to  lie  down  and  take  a  nap  just  the 
same  as  if  Mr.  Stuart  was  here  to  see  that  you  do  it." 

"Yes,  Poley;  I  will.  Let  me  speak  to  Mrs.  Shepherd 
first,"  replied  Palma.  And  she  went  to  the  old  lady,  who 
had  just  come  out  of  the  dining-room  and  was  crossing  the 
hall,  and  said : 

"There  are  a  few  more  pieces  in  the  basket  to  mend.  If 
you  will  trust  them  to  me  I  will  take  them  to  my  room." 

"With  much  pleasure  and  thankfulness,  dear  child,  I 
will,"  replied  the  minister's  wife,  who  then  passed  upstairs 
to  take  her  own  afternoon  nap. 

As  Palma  had  not  slept  well  on  the  preceding  night,  and 
had,  besides,  risen  earlier  than  usual  that  morning,  her 
siesta  was  rather  a  long  one,  and  it  was  after  five  when  she 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  257 

awoke.  Then  she  took  a  bath,  and  afterward  made  what 
was,  for  her,  rather  an  elaborate  toilet,  wearing  her  white 
jnull  dress  freshly  done  up,  and  blush  roses  on  her  bosom 
and  in  her  curly  black  hair — for  was  not  her  husband 
coming  back  to  her  like  a  bridegroom  after  a  whole  day's 
absence  ? 

She  went  out  on  the  piazza,  where  all  the  ladies  in  the 
house  were  assembled  to  receive  the  gentlemen,  who  were 
to  return  from  town  in  time  for  dinner. 

Presently  the  stage  rolled  into  the  yard,  filled  with  all 
the  men  who  had  gone  away  in  the  morning,  except  Cleve 
Stuart. 

They  jumped  down  from  their  se*te,  and  hurried  up  on 
the  piazza  to  greet  wives  and  children. 

"You  did  not  expect  Mr.  Stuart,  then,  by  this  stage?" 
said  Mrs.  Shepherd  to  Palma. 

"Oh,  no.  He  will  leave  New  York  by  the  seven  o'clock 
train,"  replied  Palma. 

"That  is  the  last  train  the  stage  goes  to  meet,  I  believe." 

"Yes.  If  any  passengers  come  by  a  later  train  for  the 
Mountain  House  they  bave  to  hire  the  railway  hacks." 

The  dinner  gong  sounded,  and  they  all  went  into  the 
house. 

An  hour  later  they  were  all  out  on  the  piazza  again.  It 
was  now  near  sunset,  and  the  stage  was  there,  ready  for  its 
last  trip  to  the  station. 

Old  Mr.  Lull  came  up  to  where  Palma  sat  looking  eager 
and  impatient,  and  said : 

"My  dear,  the  coach  is  going  down  to  the  station  empty. 
Would  you  like  to  take  your  maid  and  ride  down  the  moun- 
tain and  meet  your  husband,  who,  I  hear,  is  expected  by 
this  train?" 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much.  How  kind  you  are  to  think  of 
it,  Mr.  Lull.  Yes,  indeed,  I  should  like  to  go,"  joyfully 
exclaimed  Palma. 

"Bun  in,  then,  and  put  on  your  hat,"  said  the  old  man. 

Palma  flew  into  the  room  calling  her  attendant. 

"Poley!  Poley,  dear!  Do  you  want  to  take  a  ride? 
Come,  get  ready.  We  are  going  to  drive  down  to  Jhe  sta- 
tion to  meet  Cleve.  Make  haste,  the  stage  is  waiting,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  hastily  unfastened  her  white  dress, 
dropped  it,  and  began  to  put  on  her  crimson  cashmere  suit. 


258  WHY  DID  HE  WEI?  HER? 

Mrs.  Pole  came  up  to  her,  bewildered  and  slow  to  under- 
stand what  she  was  to  do. 

However,  she  helped  Palma  to  change  her  dress,  and  then 
she  herself  got  ready  for  the  drive  and  both  went  out  and 
took  their  seats  in  the  stage. 

Palma  was  as  pleased  as  any  child  would  have  been  with 
the  drive  down  the  wooded  mountain  side. 

"How  surprised  Cleve  will  be  to  find  us  there  to  meet 
him.  Oh !  I  hope  we  shall  get  there  before  the  train  comes 
in !  I  hope  he  won't  have  to  wait  for  us.  John I"  she  called 
to  the  driver. 

"  Yes,  miss — mum  !"  replied  the  stage  man. 

"He  always  calls  me  Miss  Mum,  Poley,"  whispered 
Palma,  in  the  gayety  of  her  heart. 

"That  is  because  you  do  look  so  young,  dear.  He  begins 
with  miss,  and  then  he  remembers  that  you  are  ma'am," 
replied  Mrs.  Pole. 

"John,  shall  we  get  to  the  station  before  the  train  comes 
in?"  inquired  Palma. 

John,  who  had  overheard  a  part  of  the  conversation,  took 
time  to  collect  his  thoughts  and  correct  his  phrases,  an- 
swered, slowly  and  carefully: 

"Yes,  mum.  Safe  to  do  so,  mum.  Get  there  fifteen  to 
twenty  minutes  afore  the  train  gets  in,  mum." 

"That  will  do.  Thank  you,  John,"  said  Palma,  laughing. 

The  stage  driver  touched  his  hat,  although  the  lady  so 
honored  could  not  see  the  salute,  and  muttered  something 
in  which  the  only  distinguishable  word  was  "mum,"  and 
drove  on. 

They  had  a  lovely  drive  through  the  woods  down  the 
mountain  side,  and  arrived  in  good  time  at  the  station. 

A  freight  train  thundered  by  on  its  way  south. 

John  held  his  horses  until  the  noise  and  smoke  were  far 
away,  and  then  drove  to  the  door  of  the  waiting  room, 
where  his  two  passengers  got  out. 

An  express  train,  going  north,  shot  past  with  a  shriek. 

"Now,  the  next  un  'ill  be  our'n,  m — m — mum,"  said 
John. 

The  two  women  sat  down  in  the  waiting-room.  Five, 
ten,  fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  then  came  the  whirr  and 
rush  of  the  coming  train. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  £59 

Palma  and  Mrs.  Pole  went  out  and  stood  upon  the  plat- 
form. 

"Oh !  won't  Cleve  be  surprised  to  see  us  ?  But  will  he  be 
glad?  Will  he  approve?"  inquired  Palma,  her  eyes  radiant 
with  delight,  yet  with  a  tone  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  dear,  he  will  be  just  astonished !  but  he  will  also  be 
overjoyed  to  find  that  you  could  ride  so  far  and  look  so 
well,"  replied  Mrs.  Pole,  but  her  words  were  lost  in  the 
thunder  of  the  train  that  dashed  up,  stopped>  bellowed  for 
half  a  minute,  and  shot  forward  on  its  way  north. 

No  one  had  got  off. 

"Why,  what  does  it  all  mean,  Poley?"  demanded  Palma, 
with  a  frightened  look.  k 

"  Oh,  just  that  he  hasn't  come  by  this  train,  but  will  come 
by  a  later  one.  Don't  be  worried.  We  have  had  our  pleas- 
ant drive,  anyhow.  And  we'll  have  our  pleasant  drive  back. 
And  look  here,  my  dear  child — if  you  are  going  to  begin 
married  life  by  going  into  fits  every  time  your  husband 
stays  away  longer  than  you  like,  it's  a  poor  prospect  before 
you  for  peace  and  happiness,"  said  the  experienced  matron. 

"  Now,  Poley,  you  know  me  better  than  that !  And  I 
know  the  very  worst  thing — not  that  a  wife  could  do  to  a 
husband,  but  that  any  human  being  could  do  to  another — - 
would  be  to  try  to  fetter  his  free  will.  I  begged  Cleve  to 
stay  in  New  York  to-night  and  go  to  the  opera  if  he 
pleased,  without  fancying  that  I  should  be  anxious.  But  he 
declared  that  he  preferred  to  come  back  here.  That  is  the 
reason  why  I  expected  him." 

At  this  moment  the  stage  driver  came  in  and  said : 

"Keady  to  start,  m — mum." 

"John !"  called  a  loud  voice  from  the  window  of  the  tele- 
graph office. 

"Well,  wot  do  yer  want?"  inquired  the  driver,  going 
toward  the  caller. 

"Here's  a  tel.  for  your  place,  and  the  office  boy's  gone 
home  for  the  night.  Can  you  take  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  reckon  so.    Who's  it  fur?"  inquired  John. 

The  operator  said  something  indistinguishable  by  the 
two  women,  and  handed  out  an  envelope  to  the  man,  who 
brought  it  straight  to  Palma,  saying: 

"It's  fur  you — mum!" 


£60  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"A  telegram!"  exclaimed  Palma,  with  a  little  quiver  of 
apprehension,  as  she  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  aloud : 

"Grand  Central  Depot,  New  York  City — August  — . 
Missed  the  seven  train.  Will  come  by  the  nine-thirty. 

"C.  S." 

"That's  it,  Poley!  Well,  as  you  say,  we  have  had  a 
delightful  drive  down  the  momntain,  and  we  will  have  a 
delightful  drive  up  it !  Come ;  we  will  take  our  seats,"  said 
Palma. 

They  went  out  and  got  into  the  stage. 

John,  who  was  already  on  the  box,  started  his  horses 
and  they  went  off  at  a  spanking  pace. 

The  drive  back  to  the  Mountain  House  was  under  a  star- 
light sky. 

When  they  reached  Lull's  they  found  all  the  boarders  out 
on  the  piazza,  enjoying  the  splendor  of  the  summer  night. 

"Mr.  Stuart  telegraphed  to  me  that  he  had  missed  the 
train,  but  would  come  by  the  next  one,"  Palma  said,  in 
explanation,  to  the  few  friends  who  were  interested  in  her. 

"Ah!  that  will  be  the  half -past  nine  from  New  York. 
I'll  send  Jake  with  the  dogcart  to  meet  him,"  said  old  Mr. 
Lull. 

Now  Jake  was  his  grandson  and  bookkeeper. 

"I  thank  you  very  mwch,  Mr.  Lull,"  said  Palma,  earn- 
estly ;  and  then  she  suffered  Mrs.  Pole  to  coax  her  in.  She 
bowed  good-night  to  the  friends  on  the  piazza  and  entered 
her  chamber  through  one  of  the  front  French  windows. 

"Now,  my  dear,  you  juit  undress  and  go  to  bed." 

"I  cannot,  Poley.  If  the  telegram  had  told  me  that  he 
was  going  to  stay  all  night  in  New  York  I  should  go  to  bed 
and  to  sleep,  but  as  he  says  he  is  coming  to-night  I  must 
sit  up  and  wait  for  him." 

"He  will  be  properly  yexed  if  you  do." 

"No,  he  will  not,  Poley.  I  will  take  off  my  dress  and 
my  boots  and  put  on  a  wrapper  and  slippers  and  recline  in 
in  my  easy-chair,  with  my  feet  on  the  footstool,  and  so  I 
shall  rest  very  well  until  eleren  o'clock.  And  he  will  be 
here  by  that  time." 

Mrs.  Pole  shook  her  head  in  iilent  disapproval;  but  she 
helped  her  yo*ng  charge  to  change  her  drees  for  a 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  361 

her  boots  for  slippers,  and  seated  her  comfortably  in  the 
resting-chair  with  her  feet  on  the  hassock. 

Then  Mrs.  Pole  turned  doirn  the  light  of  the  kerosene 
lamp  and  stretched  herself  on  the  sofa  to  rest  and  doze. 

All  was  still  and  dark  in  th«  room,  yet  Palma  neither 
"slumbered  nor  slept."  She  coald  hear  everything  that 
passed  on  the  piazza  outside — the  chatter  and  the  laughter ; 
the  mutual  good-nights  between  those  who  retired  earlier 
and  those  who  stayed  later  outside. 

At  last  she  heard  the  dogcart  roll  up  to  the  door  and 
the  last  words  between  old  Mr.  L»ll  and  Jake  before  the 
latter  jumped  into  the  cart  and  drore  off. 

Then  she  heard  the  hall  clock  strike  ten.  She  knew  that 
it  would  take  an  hour  to  drive  to  and  from  the  station  and 
that  the  dogcart  would  return,  about  eleven  o'clock. 

She  wished  to  speak  to  her  attendant  and  tell  her  this; 
but  that  worthy  woman  was  fast  asleep  on  the  sofa,  and 
Palma  would  not  disturb  her. 

How  still  the  house  now  was!  Everyone  had  come  in 
from  the  piazza  and  retired  to  their  rooms. 

How  slowly  passed  the  hour  of  waiting ! 

Palma  resolutely  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  go,  in  am- 
agination,  with  the  messenger  to  the  depot.  She  succeeded 
so  well  that  she  went  into  dreamland  instead. 

How  or  when  she  slipped  to  sleep  she  could  never  exactly 
tell. 

But  she  knew  she  was  waked  up  by  the  arrival  of  the 
dog-cart  and  voices  outside. 

She  started  up  and  went  to  the  door  of  her  chamber. 

The  hall  was  lighted  by  one  lamp  from  the  ceiling,  and 
Mr.  Lull  and  his  grandson  were  standing  within  the  hall 
door,  talking.  Jake  was  saying: 

"No,  sir;  Mr.  Stuart  did  not  come  by  this  train  neither. 
Nobody  come  by  it  for  this  place." 

Palma's  heart  sank  and  her  aoml  darkened  with  dread. 
She  stepped  forward  eagerly  and  demanded : 

"Are  you  sure  that  Mr.  Stuart  did  not  come  and  has  not 
been  left  behind  at  the  station?" 

"  Certainly  sure,  Mrs.  Stuart.  No  one  came  by  that  train 
for  Lull's.  No  one  got  off  it.  I  stayed  in  the  waiting-room 
a  good  ten  minutes  after  the  train  had  passed." 

«0h!    Oh!    Oh!    What  has  happened ?"  moaned  Palma, 


262  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

wringing  her  hands.  "But  the  telegraph  office,  Mr.  Jacob ! 
Was  there  a  telegram  for  me  ?" 

"The  office  closes  at  eight  o'clock,  ma'am."  replied  Jake. 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do  in  this  dreadful  suspense  ?"  moaned 
Palma,  wringing  her  hands. 

The  commotion  had  waked  up  Mrs.  Pole,  who  now  came 
from  the  chamber. 

"What  is  the  matter,  child?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  dear  Poley,  he  has  not  come  back!  He  has  not 
come  back  I" 

"Well,  dear  heart,  don't  be  so  distressed.  He  will  be 
here  to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh !  how  do  I  know  that  ?  How  do  I  know  that  ?  How 
do  I  know  what  has  happened  to  him  ?  If  he  had  not  tele- 
graphed that  he  had  missed  the  seven  o'clock  train,  and 
would  come  by  the  nine-thirty,  I  should  not  feel  so  anxious. 
I  should  only  think  that  he  had  taken  me  at  my  word,  and 
stayed  over  for  the  opera.  But  you  see,  having  missed  the 
seven  o'clock  train,  he  took  pains  to  telegraph  me  that  he 
would  come  by  the  nine-thirty." 

"Well,  but,  my  dear  child,  he  may  have  missed  the  nine- 
thirty  also." 

"  Oh,  no !  Having  lost  one  train,  he  would  be  sure  to 
secure  the  next.  Oh,  no,  Poley !  Something  has  happened. 
I  am  sure  something  has  happened !"  moaned  Palma,  still 
wringing  and  twisting  her  hands. 

"What  can  have  happened,  you  silly  child?  He  has  lost 
his  train  again.  That's  what  he  has — jawing  with  some 
other  man  about  politics,  and  forgetting  how  time  passed, 
until  it  was  too  late  to  catch  the  train,  and  too  late  even  to 
telegraph  to  this  office.  You  must  get  used  to  the  ways  of 
these  aggrawating  he-creeturs,  and  sorter  undifferent  to 
'em,  too,  if  you  want  to  have  any  peace  or  happiness  in 
this  world.  Come  in  now,  child.  Don't  you  see  that  the 
old  gentleman  has  closed  up  the  hall  and  is  waiting  to  put 
out  the  light  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Pole. 

"Yes,  I  see.  I  beg  y our  pardon  for  keeping  you  up,  Mr. 
Lull,"  said  Palma,  penitently. 

"Oh,  don't  say  a  word,  ma'am.  I  would  stay  up  all 
night  if  I  could  relieve  your  anxiety/'  replied  the  old  man, 
bowing. 

"Thank  you.    You  are  very  kind.    Good-night,  sir." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  263 

"Good-night,  ma'am/' 

Palma  passed  into  her  room,  and,  in  obedience  to  her 
attendant,  retired  to  bed,  but  she  slept  no  more  in  her  quiet 
chamber  in  the  Mountain  House  than  did  her  husband  in 
his  cell  in  the  noisy  corridor  at  police  headquarters  in  the 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  NEXT  MORNING 

CLEVE  STUART  felt  relieved  when  the  hideous  night  was 
past,  and  the  prisoners  were  taken  out  by  squads  and  car- 
ried off  to  the  police  court. 

Still  no  one  came  for  him. 

At  length  the  cells  were  all  emptied  of  their  noisome 
inmates. 

An  hour  had  passed  since  the  last  squad  had  been  taken 
away,  and  Cleve  Stuart  had  grown  very  impatient  for  his 
release,  when  at  length  Bryant  appeared,  unlocked  the  cell 
door,  and  said : 

"  Good  -morning,  captain.  There  is  a  wash-room  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  if  you  would  like  to  take  advantage 
of  it." 

"Thank  you.  I  decidedly  would  like  to  do  so,"  replied 
Stuart,  rising  to  follow  the  officer. 

When  he  had  washed  his  face  and  hands  under  a  spigot, 
over  a  common  sink,  and  arranged  his  hair  with  a  pocket 
comb,  he  turned  to  his  guard,  and  asked: 

"When  am  I  to  have  a  hearing?" 

"In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  I  suppose,  captain.  But 
you  have  time  to  get  breakfast  first." 

"How  am  I  to  get  it?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  like  the  fare  provided 
here;  but  you  can  send  out  and  have  anything  extra 
brought,  if  you  are  willing  to  pay  for  it.  You  can  write 
your  order,  captain,"  said  Dryant,  drawing  out  his  pad  and 
pencil,  and  putting  them  in  the  hands  of  his  prisoner. 

Stuart  wrote  a  short  and  simple  bill  of  fare  for  his  early 
meal,  and  Dryant  dispatched  it  by  a  messenger  to  the  near- 
est restaurant. 


2€4j  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"And  now,  officer,  I  wish  to  send  two  notes — one  to  Mr. 
Samuel  Walling,  of  the  firm  of  Walling  &  Walling,  Judi- 
ciary Buildings,  Star  Street,  whom  I  know  to  be  in  town  at 
present ;  and  one  to  Mr.  Peter  Vansitart,  who,  I  hope,  may 
also  be  found  at  his  place  of  business,"  said  Stuart. 

"Very  well,  captain.  Write  your  notes,  and  I  will  see 
that  they  are  promptly  sent,''  replied  Bryant. 

"Do ;  for  I  shall  ask  these  gentlemen  to  meet  me  in  court 
to-day." 

"All  right,  captain.  Use  that  pad,  and  I'll  find  en- 
velopes," said  the  obliging  officer. 

And  the  notes  were  written  and  dispatched. 

The  breakfast  waa  soon  brought,  and  arranged  on  a 
bench  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  in  lack  of  a  better  table. 

"Now,  captain,  I  think  we  may  start,"  said  Bryant,  as 
soon  as  Stuart  had  finished  his  meal. 

"For  the  court  room  ?    Yes,"  replied  Stuart,  rising. 

"Not  exactly.  We  have  orders  first  to  take  you  some- 
where else,"  replied  the  officer. 

"Somewhere  else?"  demanded  Cleve,  in  a  fresh  surprise. 

"Now,  captain,  you  will  know  soon  enough.    Come  1" 

Stuart,  full  of  perplexity,  followed  the  officer  upstairs, 
through  the  main  offices,  and  out  upon  the  sidewalk,  where 
a  carriage  stood  waiting  for  them. 

When  Cleve  Stuart  found  himself  seated  in  the  vehible, 
in  company  with  Bryant  and  another  officer,  he  once  more 
inquired  : 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?" 

"You  will  find  out  in  a  very  few  minutes,  captain," 
replied  Bryant. 

The  hackman  had  received  his  private  orders  and  drove 
rapidly  on,  turning  several  street  corners  one  after  another, 
and  finally  drew  up  before  the  great  gates  of  the  hospital 
where  Jennie  Montgomery  lay. 

Bryant  got  out  first,  and  requested  his  prisoner  to  alight. 
Stuart  came  down,  closely  followed  by  Officer  Grey. 

5The  three  entered  the  hospital. 

In  the  outer  hall  they  were  met  by  an  attendant  who 
seemed  to  expect  the  party,  and  who  conducted  them  up- 
stairs and  along  several  passages  to  the  confinement  ward 
in  which  Jennie  Montgomery  happened  to  be  the  only 
patient. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  265 

Stuart  asked  no  more  questions,  but  waited  for  the 
denouement.  They  walked  between  rows  of  little  white 
beds  until  they  came  to  that  occupied  by  Jennie  and  her 
child. 

Mrs.  Gilbert,  the  nurse,  was  in  attendance. 

"How  is  your  patient?"  inquired  Dryant,  in  a  low  voice, 

"Doing  nicely,"  said  the  nurse;  and  then  she  caught 
sight  of  young  Stuart  and  stared  open-mouthed  at  him. 
He  seemed  to  her  to  be  the  unquestionable  original  of  the 
miniature  that  the  convalescent  young  mother  was  guarding 
with  such  jealous  care. 

"1  see  what  you  are  going  to  do,"  she  said.  "You  are 
going  to  confront  this  man  with  her;  but  it  is  no  use;  she 
won't  own  him ;  besides,  she  is  asleep  now  and  must  not  be 
disturbed." 

"Stand  here,  captain,  so  that  her  eyes  may  light  on  you, 
as  soon  as  she  opens  them/'  said  Dryant,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  the  nurse's  words,  but  placing  his  man  where  he 
wished  him  to  be  posted,  by  the  side  of  the  head  of  the 
patient's  bed. 

Cleve  Stuart  really  wished  nothing  better  just  now  than 
to  be  confronted  with  the  woman  supposed  to  be  his  injured 
wife,  and  whom  he  had  been  accused  of  assaulting  with 
intent  to  kill.  Police  officers  might  be  deceived  by  a  like- 
ness between  himself  and  the  photograph  of  this  woman's 
husband  and  assailant,  but  the  wife  never  could  be  so 
misled. 

Cleve  Stuart  had  been  standing  at  his  post  only  a  few 
minutes  when  Jennie  calmly  opened  her  eyes,  saw  the 
counterpart  of  her  husband  standing  there,  and  startled  by 
the  likeness,  stared  for  a  moment,  and  then  exclaimed : 

"Why,  Kightly !  Is  that  you  ?  Why,  you  have  shaved  off 
your " 

Then  she  stopped  abruptly  and  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"  So  this  man  is  your  husband,  madam  ?"  said  Dryant,  in 
a  quiet  tone. 

"No,  he  is  not.  He  is  a  perfect  stranger.  I  never  saw 
him  in  my  life  before,  to  my  knowledge,"  replied  Jennie, 
turning  away  her  head. 

"There !  I  told  you  so,"  commented  the  nurse.  "She'll 
never  give  him  away." 


266  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Look  again,  Mrs.  Montgomery.  Is  not  this  man  your 
husband  ?"  persisted  Dryant. 

"No,  he  is  not.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  possibly  be  mis- 
taken in  such  a  matter?"  impatiently  demanded  the  young 
woman. 

"And  yet,  when  you  first  saw  him  here,  being  taken  by 
surprise,  you  called  him  by  your  husband's  name,"  objected 
Dryant. 

"Suppose  I  did?  What  of  that?  I  was  but  half  awake, 
and  startled  by  the  likeness;  for  there  is  a  very  striking 
likeness;  but  likeness  don't  constitute  identity.  And  if 
there  is  a  great  likeness  there  is  also  a  great  difference.  My 
husband  had  much  lighter " 

Then  she  stopped  suddenly,  finding  that  she  had  nearly 
been  betrayed  into  giving  some  personal  points  of  the  gal- 
lant Kightly  that  might  lead  to  his  identification  and 
arrest. 

"Lighter — what,  madam?  Eyes,  hair,  complexion?"  in- 
sinuatingly inquired  Dryant. 

"Excuse  me,  I  would  rather  not  tell  you.  And  I  think 
it  is  not  fair  for  you  to  try  to  entrap  a  poor  woman  into 
saying  things  she  does  not  wish  to  say,  when  her  head  is 
so  weak,  too,  with  all  that  she  has  gone  through,"  Jennie 
complained,  and  again  she  turned  her  face  away  from  her 
cross-questioners. 

"And  you  finally  declare  that  this  man  is  not  your  hus- 
band ?"  reiterated  Dryant. 

"Yes,  I  do.  And  if  you  will  bring  me  a  Bible  I  will 
swear  that  he  is  not,"  said  Jennie. 

As  nothing  else  but  positive  denial  of  all  knowledge  of 
the  stranger  could  be  got  from  her,  the  officers,  much  dis- 
comfited, took  their  prisoner  away. 

"I  told  you  how  it  would  be.  I  knew  how  it  would  be. 
But  he  is  her  husband,  all  the  same.  But  what  can  you  do, 
if  she  refuses  to  prosecute?"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  as  she  fol- 
lowed the  party  to  the  door.  And  then  turning  to  the  pris- 
oner, she  volunteered  the  following  exhortation: 

"And  as  for  you,  Capt.  Montgomery,  if  you  have  any 
heart,  or  any  soul,  or  any  conscience,  or  any  feeling,  you 
would  be  touched  and  affected  by  your  wife's  mag-nani- 
mosity !" — she  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  had  the  whole 
of  that  very  big  word  at  her  tongue's  end,  and  so  she 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  267 

brought  it  out  slowly — "a  woman  who  is  willing  to  risk  her 
soul's  salvation  to  shield  you.  I  should  think  you  would 
be  down  on  your  knees,  with  your  forehead  in  the  dust." 

"And  so  I  should  be,  ma'am,  if  I  were  the  caitiff  in 
question ;  but  you  see  I  am  not,"  said  Stuart,  with  a  laugh, 
for  the  whole  affair  was  beginning  to  look  to  him  like  a 
huge  joke.  He  was  so  sure  of  being  soon  released. 

Not  so  sure  were  the  two  policemen.  /They  knew  of  other 
evidence,  condemning  evidence,  against  the  prisoner.  If 
the  injured  wife  refused  to  identify  him  here,  she  might  be 
compelled  to  testify  in  court. 

He  was  sure  to  be  committed  for  trial  without  bail. 

These  were  their  thoughts  as  they  placed  their  prisoner 
again  in  the  carriage,  and  took  places,  the  one  beside  him 
and  the  other  opposite  him,  on  the  cushions,  and  gave  the 
order  to  the  coachman  to  drive  back  to  police  headquarters. 

An  hour  after  this,  Cleve  Stuart,  under  the  name  of 
Kightly  Montgomery,  was  taken  into  the  police  court  and 
placed  before  the  judge,  charged  with  assault  with  intent 
to  kill  his  wife,  Jennie  Montgomery. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

BEFORE  THE  JUDGE 

"CAPT.  KIGHTLY  MONTGOMERY,"  said  Justice  Sneede, 
taking  up  a  document  from  the  table  before  him,  and  refer- 
ring to  it.  "You  are  herein  charged  with  having,  on  the 
thirty-first  of  July,  ultimo,  on  Quarry  Street,  in  this  city, 
made  a  felonious  assault  upon  the  person  of  your  wife, 
Jane  Montgomery,  with  intent  to  kill  her  and  her  unborn 
child.  What  have  you  to  say  to  this  charge?" 

"In  the  first  place,  your  honor,  I  have  to  say  that  I  am 
not  Capt.  Kightly  Montgomery,  nor — with  submission  to 
the  court — Capt.  anybody  else. 

"In  the  second  place,  my  wife's  name  is  not  Jane  Mont- 
gomery, but  Palma  Hay  Stuart. 

"In  the  third,  that  I  never  assaulted  my  wife  or  any 
other  person,  either  with  or  without  intent  to  kill. 

"In  the  fourth,  that  neither  my  wife  nor  myself  was  in 
New  York  City  on  the  thirty-first,  or  any  other  day  in  July. 


268  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"In  the  fifth,  that  this  is  a  case  of  mistaken  identity. 

"In  the  sixth  and  last,  that  1  am  momentarily  expecting 
witnesses  here,  who  will  prove  the  truth  of  my  statement/' 
replied  Cleve  Stuart,  and  with  a  bow  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"Roundsman  Hawke !" 

The  night  watchman  who  had  first  discovered  the  body  of 
the  wounded  girl  came  up  and  testified  to  having,  in  the 
early  morning  hours,  say  about  half -past  two  o'clock,  passed 
up  Quarry  Street  from  the  river,  and  stumbled  over  an 
obstacle  which,  on  examining,  he  found  to  be  the  apparently 
dead  body  of  a  girl.  There  was  no  one  near.  He  stooped 
and  raised  the  body,  and  while  he  was  examining  it,  a  man 
came  along  who  stopped  and  asked  what  was  the  matter, 
and  stooped  also  to  look  at  the  girl,  and  said  she  was  stone 
dead,  and  then  hastened  away  to  take  the  news  to  the  morn- 
ing paper  for  which  he  was  reporter.  And  the  witness  then 
sprang  his  rattle  and  obtained  assistance  in  removing  the 
body  to  the  hospital,  for  signs  of  life  had  shown  themselves 
when  she  was  lifted. 

The  next  witness  was  the  surgeon  who  first  examined  the 
wound.  He  testified  that  the  blow  was  aimed  at  the  heart, 
and  must  have  pierced  it  but  that  the  steel  in  the  young 
woman's  stays  turned  the  point  of  the  knife  so  that  it  only 
made  a  slanting  flesh  wound  in  the  left  breast,  more  pain- 
ful than  dangerous;  and  that  the  first  appearance  of  death 
had  been  produced  by  the  girl  having  fainted  from  the  ner- 
vous shock. 

The  third  witness  was  Mrs.  Mary  Marshall,  widow  and 
seamstress,  living  directly  opposite  to  the  scene  of  the 
assault. 

She  repeated  the  testimony  she  had  given  the  day  before 
at  police  headquarters,  as  to  the  hour,  half-past  two  in  the 
morning,  when  she  arose  from  a  sleepless  and  feverish  bed, 
and  went  and  sat  at  the  window  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh 
air ;  as  to  the  darkness  and  the  loneliness  of  the  street ;  the 
approach  of  two  persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  who  were 
quarreling,  the  woman  insisting  on  being  acknowledged  as 
the  wife  of  the  man,  and  the  man  denying  her  claim;  in 
speaking  to  each  other,  the  young  woman  called  the  man 
Kightly;  he  called  her  Jennie;  as  they  reached  the  spot 
opposite  the  window  at  which  witness  sat,  their  altercation 
grew  more  earnest  and  angry ;  they  both  stopped,  and  wit- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  269 

ness  saw  the  man's  arm  suddenly  lifted,  the  blade  of  a 
knife  gleam  for  an  instant,  and  then  was  buried  in  the 
bosom  of  the  girl,  who  fell  to  the  ground ;  and  then  witness, 
who  was  ill  and  weak,  "fainted  dead  away." 

"Does  the  prisoner  look  like  the  man  who  stabbed  the 
girl?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"Yes,  your  honor,  very  much  like  him,  indeed,  as  to 
height,  and  size,  and  form.  As  to  face,  and  features,  and 
complexion,  I  couldn't  say.  It  was  too  dark  to  make  them 
out." 

"Where  are  your  witnesses,  prisoner?" 

"I  do  not  see  them  in  court,  your  honor.  They  have  not, 
indeed,  been  regularly  summoned,  I  think.  I  only  wrote 
notes  requesting  them  to  meet  me  here/'  replied  Stuart. 

"Who  are  they  ?" 

"Mr.  Peter  Vansitart,  banker,  and  Mr.  Samuel  Walling, 
of  the  firm  of  Walling  &  Walling,  attorneys-at-law." 

"Let  the  clerk  of  the  court  make  out  subpoenas  for  these 
persons,  and  Officer  Craig,  see  that  they  are  served.  The 
prisoner  is  remanded,  and  the  case  postponed  until  to-mor- 
row at  ten  o'clock,"  said  the  judge. 

Stuart  turned  sick  at  heart,  not  for  himself,  but  for 
Palma,  when  he  thought  of  another  day  of  distressing  sus- 
pense for  her. 

"Eemove  the  prisoner,"  said  the  judge. 

Two  policemen  approached  to  obey  the  order.  Stuart 
thought  he  would  send  another  telegram  to  Palma,  to  in- 
form her  that  business  still  detained  him  in  the  city,  and  he 
hoped  that  she  would  never  find  out  the  nature  of  the  bus- 


But  just  as  he  turned  to  follow  his  conductors  a  bustle 
was  heard  in  the  lower  end  of  the  court  room,  and  old  Peter 
Vansitart  and  stout  Samuel  Walling  were  seen  pushing 
their  way  through  the  crowd  toward  the  bench. 

Walling  was  the  first  to  reach  the  presence  of  the  judge, 
though  a  little  out  of  breath. 

He  bowed  to  the  court,  and  said : 

"May  it  please  your  honor,  I  am  here  as  counsel  for  the 
accused,  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart,  whose  position  is  clearly,  one  of 
mistaken  identity.  Will  it  please  your  honor,  in  justice  to 
my  client,  to  let  his  case  proceed  ?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Walling.    We  were  only  waiting  for  you 


270  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

and  another/'  replied  the  judge.  And  he  gave  the  neces- 
sary order. 

Cleve  Stuart  was  brought  back. 

Mr.  Walling  heartily  shook  hands  with  the  prisoner, 
laughing,  and  exclaiming: 

"Upon  my  word,  this  is  a  pretty  comedy,  Stuart !  I  was 
over  my  cup  of  coffee,  this  morning,  and  had  not  yet  opened 
any  of  my  letters,  when  my  esteemed  friend  here,  Mr.  Peter 
Vansitart,  came  bustling  in,  and  told  me  he  wished  to 
engage  me  immediately  to  defend  our  mutual  young  friend, 
Stuart,  who  was  arrested  by  mistake  on  a  charge  of  assault, 
with  intent  to  kill  his  wife.  Of  course,  I  came  away  imme- 
diately." 

"And  you  have  arrived  just  in  time  to  save  me  from 
another  day's  incarceration.  If  you  had  been  one  minute 
later " 

"You  would  have  been  sent  back  to  the  inferno.  But, 
thanks  to  my  invariable  habit  of  opening  my  letters  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  I  got  your  note,  hurried  with 
it  to  Walling,  who  had  not  looked  at  his.  and  here  we  are 
in  time  to  serve  you,"  put  in  old  Peter  Vansitart. 

"No  word  of  mine  can  thank  you  both  enough,"  re- 
sponded Stuart. 

"Nonsense!   Nonsense!"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 

"Your  honor,  I  move  that  Mr.  Peter  Vansitart  be  put 
upon  the  stand  and  examined  as  to  the  identity  of  the  pris- 
oner," said  Mr.  Walling. 

"Peter  Vansitart  will  take  the  stand,"  said  the  judge. 

The  old  patroon  came  forward,  took  the  oath,  and  testi- 
fied: 

"I  have  known  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart,  for  about 
twelve  months.  Have  known  him  intimately  for  the  last 
six.  Formed  his  acquaintance  in  Paris,  last  autumn.  Knew 
him  all  the  winter  in  the  French  capital.  Came  over  in  the 
Leverie  with  him,  last  March.  Saw  him  every  day  from 
that  time  until  the  first  of  May  last,  when  I  learned  that  he 
had  married,  and  had  gone  to  spend  his  honeymoon  some- 
where up  the  Hudson.  I  swear  that  the  accused  man  is  Mr. 
Cleve  Stuart,  and  no  other.  I  have  also  brought  my  butler, 
Joseph  Tompkins,  a  most  respectable  person,  to  testify  to 
the  identity  of  the  prisoner  as  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart;  for  in  a 
'cloud  of  witnesses/  as  well  as  'in  a  multitude  of  coun- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  271 

selors/  there  is  safety,'"'  said  the  old  gentleman.  And  he 
bowed  to  the  judge,  and  sat  down. 

Then  Joseph  Tompkins  was  called  to  the  stand  and 
sworn. 

He  testified  to  having  known  the  prisoner  well,  and  hav- 
ing seen  him  every  day  at  his  master's  house  for  about  six 
weeks,  as  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart. 

But  Samuel  Walling',3  testimony  was  the  most  conclusive 
of  all. 

Having  taken  the  stand  and  the  oath,  he  deposed  that  he 
had  known  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart  ever  since  the  latter  was  a  lad 
of  sixteen  and  up  to  the  age  of  twenty-one,  when  young 
Stuart  went  to  Europe;  that  he  had  recognized  him  at 
once,  on  his  return  a  few  months  since;  and  that  the  pris- 
oner was  Cleve  Stuart,  and  no  one  else. 

Samuel  Walling  had  but  just  stepped  down,  when  a 
powerful  ally  unexpectedly  appeared  in  the  person  of  Jacob 
Lull,  who  came  forward  and  expressed  a  wish  to  be  sworn 
and  examined  in  this  case. 

Jacob  had  come  down  that  morning  to  make  purchases 
for  the  house.  He  had  performed  his  commission,  and 
while  waiting  for  the  next  train  he  had  strayed  into  the 
police  court  as  a  mere  matter  of  pastime. 

Unseen  by  the  prisoner,  he  had  heard  the  whole  charge ; 
had,  indeed,  been  on  the  point  of  coming  forward  to  the 
rescue,  when  the  appearance  of  two  such  magnates  as  Mr. 
Peter  Vansitart  and  Mr.  Samuel  Walling  deterred  him  for 
a  while. 

Now,  however,  when  these  two  great  men  had  said  all 
they  had  to  say,  "Jake"  saw  his  opportunity  of  clinching, 
so  to  speak,  the  case  in  favor  of  the  prisoner. 

His  evidence  was  short  and  simple,  and  to  the  point,  and 
may  be  condensed  as  follows : 

"Yes,  I  know  the  prisoner,  and  have  known  him  for 
about  four  months.  He  is  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart,  and  has  lived 
at  our  house,  the  Pine  Mountain  House,  ever  since  ths  first 
of  last  May.  On  the  thirty-first  of  July,  when  the  assault 
on  Jennie  Montgomery  is  said  to  have  taken  place,  he  was 
at  the  Pine  Mountain  House  all  day  and  all  night.,  as  ho 
was  all  the  days  and  all  the  nights  for  three  months  before 
that,  and  as  he  has  been  all  the  days  and  all  the  nights  one 
month  since  that  until  yesterday  morning,  when  he  left  the 


272  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HEK? 

house  for  the  first  time  since  the  first  of  May,  and  came 
down  to  the  city  on  business.  And  that  is  Mr.  Cleve  Stuart, 
and  this  is  all  I  have  got  to  say/'  concluded  this  witness, 
as  he  bowed  to  the  court  end  sat  down. 

"I  move  that  the  case  be  dismissed"  said  Samuel 
Walling. 

"Mr.  Stuart,  you  are  discharged,"  said  the  judge. 

Then  Cleve  Stuart  bowed  to  the  judge  and  turned  to  his 
friends. 

Samuel  Walling  burst  out  laughing. 

"Never  heard  of  such  a  case  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
life,  Stuart !  Have  met  such  in  my  law  books,  but  never 
met  one  in  life !  The  idea  of  you  being  locked  up  all  night 
on  such  a  charge,  just  from  your  resemblance  to  a  photo- 
graph !  Come !  Let  us  adjourn  to  the  Grand  Central,  and 
crack  a  bottle  of  Clicquot  in  honor  of  the  finest  police  in  the 
world !"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  whole  party  passed  out  of  the 
court  room. 

"But  I  wished  to  catch  the  next  train  for  Lull's,  thank 
you,"  replied  Stuart. 

"You  can't  do  it !  Train  leaves  at  two,  and  it  is  now  five 
minutes  to  that !  The  next  train  after  it,  leaves  at  three- 
forty.  You  have  plenty  of  time  to  lunch  leisurely  with  us. 
Come  I" 

Stuart  yielded,  and  the  four  men — for  young  Lull,  in 
regard  to  his  services,  had  been  included  in  the  invitation — 
boarded  a  stage  and  rode  off  to  the  chosen  restaurant,  where 
they  had  a  merry  lunch,  and  lingered  over  it  until  it  was 
time  for  two  of  them  to  take  the  train. 

Then  they  parted  company,  Mr.  Vansitart  and  Mr.  Wall- 
ing going  downtown,  and  Cleve  Stuart  and  Jake  Lull  going 
across  to  the  depot  where  they  caught  the  three-forty  for 
Lull's. 


CHAPTEK   XXX 

WHEN  THE  MORNING  CAME 


MEANWHILE,   Palma   had   passed   a   night   of  terrible 
anxiety,  which  no  arguments  of  Mrs.  Pole  could  soothe. 
The  good  woman  sat  in  an  easy-chair  by  her  bedside, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  273 

through  all  the  dark  hours,  for  the  light  of  the  kerosene 
lamp  was  turned  low  to  favor  and  induce  sleep,  if  possible. 

When  Palma  was  quiet,  Mrs.  Pole  dozed,  but  woke  up 
instantly  at  any  movement  of  her  charge. 

Palma,  like  many  anxious  sufferers  much  wiser  than  her- 
self, harped  upon  one  string. 

"If  he  had  not  telegraphed  to  me  that  he  had  missed  the 
seven  and  would  come  by  the  nine-thirty,  I  should  not  be  so 
anxious  !  I  should  simply  think  he  had  stayed  over  for  the 
opera,  as  I  begged  him  to  do,  if  he  should  feel  inclined; 
but  instead  of  that,  he  telegraphed  that  he  was  coming! 
And  he  has  not  come !  And  oh  !  I  know  something  has  hap- 
pened to  him,"  she  moaned. 

"Nothing  has  happened,  but  he  has  missed  the  train 
again.  He  could  not  telegraph  again,  because  the  office  was 
shut  at  this  end,"  Mrs.  Pole  replied. 

"Oh,  Poley !    I  wish  it  was  day !" 

"Say  your  prayers,  child,  and  try  to  go  to  sleep,"  Mrs. 
Pole  answered,  being  more  than  half  asleep  herself. 

At  length,  when  the  light  of  the  early  dawn  was  peeping 
through  the  slats  of  the  shutters,  Palma,  overcome  with 
mental  and  bodily  fatigue,  fell  into  a  profound  slumber, 
which,  within  an  hour,  however,  was  broken  by  a  loud  rap- 
ping at  the  chamber  door. 

It  first  roused  Mrs.  Pole,  who,  starting  from  her  sleep 
and  from  her  chair  simultaneously,  demanded  sharply,  for 
her  nerves  were  all  unstrung  for  want  of  rest: 

''"What's  the  matter  now  ?    Has  bedlam  broke  loose  ?" 

"A  telegram,  marm,"  answered  the  voice  of  old  Mr.  Lull. 

"A  telegram!"  exclaimed  the  woman,  flying  to  the  door 
and  opening  it. 

"A  telegram  !"  cried  Palma,  starting  out  of  her  sleep,  and 
sitting  up  in  bed. 

"Yes,  marm.  It  should  have  come  last  night,  only  the 
office  was  closed,  you  see.  I  drove  our  Jake  down  to  the 
station  to  take  the  airliest  train  to  the  city  this  morning, 
and  I  got  the  telegram  and  brought  it  back  with  me,  else 
you  wouldn't  have  got  it  for  two  hours  yet,"  Mr.  Lull  ex- 
plained, after  he  had  passed  the  envelope  to  Mrs.  Pole,  who 
hurried  with  it  to  Palma,  who  tore  it  open,  read  it  and 
exclaimed : 

"Oh,  Poley,  ii,  is  all  right !    He  was  detained  by  business. 


274  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  did  dispatch  this  message  to  me  last  night,  but,  you  see, 
it  came  after  the  office  was  closed.  He  will  be  here  in  the 
course  of  the  day." 

"I  told  you  so,"  grunted  Mrs.  Pole. 

"And  I  will  never  be  such  a  fool  as  to  make  myself  so 
unhappy  about  nothing  again  as  long  as  I  live." 

"I  hope  not,  but  I  don't  know.  I  ain't  so  sure  about 
that,"  grumbled  the  good  woman,  for  her  nerves  and  temper 
had  been  sorely  tried  by  the  anxious  little  wife. 

Early  as  it  was,  Palma  did  not  go  to  sleep  again,  but 
arose  and  dressed  herself,  took  a  book  and  went  out  on  the 
piazza. 

Mrs.  Pole  made  the  beds,  set  the  room  in  order  and  went 
out  to  gossip  with  her  friends  the  waitresses,  meanwhile 
helping  and  not  hindering  them  at  their  morning  work. 

Ladies  soon  came  trooping  downstairs,  and  out  upon  the 
piazza  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  and  get  an  appetite  for  break- 
fast. 

When  the  morning  meal  was  over,  they  all  repaired  to 
their  rooms,  except  Palma,  who  brought  out  her  little  work- 
basket,  piled  up  with  Mrs.  Shepherd's  laces,  which  she  had 
undertaken  to  mend  artistically,  with  the  pattern  stitches, 
so  that  the  fractures  could  never  be  discovered. 

The  dainty,  little,  old  lady  soon  joined  her  there  with 
some  knitting,  and  they  worked  and  chatted  as  on  the  day 
before,  and  watching  the  stage  go  and  come  at  its  regular 
times. 

And  so  the  hours  of  the  forenoon  passed  away  until  the 
lunch  bell  rang. 

By  this  time  Palma  had  finished  mending  the  laces,  and 
had  folded  them  neatly. 

She  now  arose  and  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Shepherd,  who  was 
warm  in  the  expression  of  her  gratitude  and  admiration. 

They  went  into  the  house  together. 

After  lunch  Palma  retired  to  her  bedroom  and  lay  down, 
for  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  her  sleepless 
night.  No  sooner  now  had  her  head  touched  the  pillow  than 
she  sank  into  a  profound  slumber. 

Mrs.  Pole  closed  the  shutters  and  darkened  the  chamber, 
and  then  went  off  to  her  own  room  to  take  the  nap  that  she 
also  needed. 

The  warm,  still  hours  of  the  afternoon  slipped  away,  and 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  275 

Palma  slept  on  until  the  sun  was  low — slept  on  until  she 
was  awakened  by  a  ringing  footstep  in  the  room,  and  the 
voice  of  her  husband  calling: 

"Palma!" 

"Oh,  Cleve!" 

She  started  up  with  the  cry,  and  came  forward  and  met 
him  as  if — he  had  just  returned  safe  from  an  Arctic  expe- 
dition. 

"Were  you  so  anxious,  dear?"  he  inquired.,  looking  wist- 
fully into  her  pale,  tired  face,  which  even  sleep  had  not 
quite  restored. 

"  Oh,  Cleve,  yes !  It  was  the  first  time,  you  know,  and  I 
feared  something  had  happened  to  you.  I  will  never  be  so 
foolish  again." 

"  Then  you  did  not  get  my  second  telegram  ?" 

"Not  last  night;  the  office  was  closed.  Not  until  this 
morning.  But,  Cleve,  you  look  very  worn  and  worried. 
What  has  been  the  matter,  dear?  What  was  the  nature 
of  the  business  that  kept  you  away  ?"  she  inquired,  taking 
his  face  between  her  little  hands  and  gazing  into  it. 

"Nothing  but  what  is  now  happily  over,  dear.  I  will 
tell  you  some  time.  Now  we  must  get  ready  for  dinner," 
he  replied,  heartily,  hoping  that  no  mention  of  his  arraign- 
ment at  the  police  court  upon  the  false  charge  might  have 
found  its  way  into  the  evening  papers. 

The  morning  papers  had  mentioned  the  arrest  of  Capt. 
Kightly  Montgomery,  but  had  not  mentioned  the  name  of 
Cleve  Stuart;  but  the  evening  papers  would,  of  course,  use 
the  good  joke  of  a  quiet  gentleman  like  Cleve  Stuart  being 
brought  before  the  police  court  on  the  charge  of  assault 
with  intent  to  kill,  which  had  been  made  by  another  man — 
probably  a  street  ruffian. 

And  it  was  so,  for  when  Stuart,  having  finished  his  toilet 
before  Palma  completed  hers,  went  out  upon  the  piazza, 
he  was  greeted  by  shouts  of  laughter  from  his  fellow 
boarders,  all  with  papers  in  their  hands,  and  all  ready  to 
chaff  him  on  his  adventure. 

He  took  it  good-humoredly  enough,  and  said  something 
about  the  experience  being  worth  the  inconvenience. 

In  the  midst  of  the  merriment  Palma  came  out,  looking 
very  pretty  in  her  simple  crimson  cashmere  dress,  with  the 


276  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

narrow  ruffles  at  the  throat  and  wrist,  and  her  curly  black 
hair,  with  its  one  white  rose  behind  the  ear. 

"What  is  it,  Cleve?"  she  inquired,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other,  seeing  that  her  husband  was  the  subject  of  the 
conversation,  but  feeling  no  uneasiness  because  everyone 
looked  so  good-humored. 

"My  dear,  these  gentlemen  are  laughing  at  my  expense, 
at  the  business  upon  which  I  wae  detained  in  the  city — 
simply  that  I  was  mistaken  for  a  ruffian  who  had  nearly 
murdered  his  wife,  and  I  had  to  stay  until  I  could  find  some 
friends  to  identify  me  as  Cleve  Stuart ;  a  quiet  house  dog, 
who  never  wanted  to  murder  anybody,"  merrily  replied  the 
young  man ;  but  the  horrified  look  on  the  face  of  his  wife 
stopped  his  laughter. 

"  Oh,  Cleve !    And  where  did  you  stay  ?"  she  inquired. 

"In  a — in  a "  he  could  not  tell  her  in  a  prison,  and 

he  did  not  wish  to  tell  her  a  fib,  so  he  added:  "In  a  public 
house." 

"Public  house?  Oh !  that  is  the  old-fashioned  name  for 
a  hotel.  How  funny !  Mr.  Barrn  used  to  call  hotels  public 
houses." 

"And  now  let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  There's  the 
dinner  bell.  Come,"  he  said,  drawing  her  arm  through 
his  own,  and  leading  her  in. 

His  companions  followed  them;  but  understanding  that 
no  more  "chaffing"  was  to  be  tolerated  in  the  presence  of 
the  young  wife,  the  subject  of  Stuart's  adventure  with  the 
policeman  was  dropped. 

The  month  wore  on  towards  its  close. 

Nothing  had  been  heard  of  the  thieves  who  had  stolen 
the  diamonds  from  Stuart's  traveling  trunk.  Rewards  had 
been  offered  for  the  return  of  the  jewels  without  effect. 

At  length  Stuart  gave  them  up  for  lost. 

In  the  last  week  of  their  stay  at  Lull's,  Cleve  went  once 
more  down  to  the  city  for  a  few  hours  only.  His  business 
was  to  secure  cheap,  plainly  furnished  apartments  for  him- 
self and  wife,  with  Mrs.  Pole  for  housekeeper  and  general 
servant. 

Such  a  suit  he  found  in  a  French  flat  in  the  northwestern 
section  of  the  city.  He  secured  them  at  once,  at  a  moderate 
rent,  and  returned  to  Lull's  to  make  preparations  for  re- 
moval. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  277 

He  had  resolved  that,  when  he  should  be  settled  in  the 
city,  he  would  go  to  work — at  any  work  that  he  could  get. 
He  would  be  clerk,  tutor,  bookkeeper,  or  amanuensis,  if  he 
could  succeed  in  procuring  an  engagement  in  either  ca- 
pacity— if  not,  he  would  be  a  coachman,  butler,  or  gar- 
dener— if  he  could  get  a  situation  as  either.  He  would  do 
any  honest  work,  however  hard,  take  any  decent  place,  how- 
ever humble,  to  earn  the  comforts  of  life  for  his  delicate 
young  wife. 

Yet  Palma  was  not  so  fragile  as  she  had  been.  Her 
health  and  strength  seemed  to  be  entirely  restored:  her 
eyes  glowed,  her  cheeks  bloomed. 

When  the  last  day  at  Lull's  came,  she  was  able  to  be 
active  in  helping  Mrs.  Pole  to  pack  the  trunks. 

And  when  that  task  waa  completed  she  went  out,  leaning 
on  Stuart's  arm,  to  take  her  last  ramble  through  the  woods 
that  surrounded  the  house.  There  were  rustic  seats  here 
and  there,  where  she  sat  down  to  rest. 

At  sunset  they  returned  to  the  house  to  dinner. 

That  night  the  young  pair — in  view  of  their  early  de- 
parture on  the  ensuing  morning — went  early  to  bed 

Palma,  having  exerted  herself  more  than  usual,  felt  very 
tired  and  sleepy,  and  almost  immediately  dropped  into  a 
deep  and  healthful  slumber. 

But  Cleve,  disturbed  by  his  great  anxiety  for  the  future, 
lay  wide  awake.  The  diamond  robbery  troubled  him.  If 
his  diamonds  had  not  been  stolen  he  might  have  managed 
to  live  comfortably  through  the  winter,  and  applied  him- 
self to  the  study  of  law ;  but  now  he  must  work  at  whatever 
his  hands  could  find  to  do,  however  humble  it  might  be. 
He  was  satisfied  that  Palma  knew  nothing  of  his  anxieties. 
She  had  grown  up  in  the  faith  that  he  was  a  man  of  vast 
wealth,  the  owner  of  a  rich  cotton  plantation  and  many 
slaves.  She  knew  the  slaves  were  free,  but  she  did  not  know 
that  the  war  had  transformed  the  plantation  into  a  desert, 
with  heaps  of  charred  stones  and  cinders  where  the  elegant 
mansion  house,  the  cotton  mill,  offices  and  cabins  had 
stood,  and  that  it  would  take  as  many  thousand  dollars  as 
the  land  was  worth  to  restore  it,  and  rebuild  the  houses, 
and  that  Cleve  Stuart  did  not  possess  as  many  tens.  So 
Palma  slept  tranquilly,  free  from  all  cares  of  the  world, 
from  which  he  would,  indeed,  have  toiled  hard  to  save  her ; 


278  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

while  he  lay  vide  awake,  hearing  every  hour  that  struck  on 
the  old  hall  clock  outside  his  room. 

The  clock  had  just  tolled  three,  when  he  was  startled  by 
a  most  unusual  event,  occurring  in  the  dead  of  night.  It 
was  the  faint  gleam  of  a  wax  taper  moving  ahout  the  dense 
darkness  of  the  apartment.  At  first  he  could  see  nothing 
but  the  slowly  passing  taper,  that  seemed  to  be  moving  of 
itself ;  but  when  he  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  gazed 
more  intently,  he  saw  the  bony  fingers  that  held  the  taper. 
It  was  advancing  into  the  room,  and  as  it  came  nearer  he 
could  perceive  the  dim  outlines  of  a  tall,  gaunt  human 
form,  clothed  in  a  long,  white  gown,  with  some  white  drap- 
ery dropping  around  the  head. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  DISCOVERY 

His  first  impulse  was  to  call  aloud  to  ask : 

"Who  are  you?  What  are  you  doing  here?"  But  his 
second  thought  led  him  to  sink  back  on  his  pillow,  lie  still, 
and  watch;  for  he  perceived  that  the  intruder  was  a 
woman. 

She  came  nearer  still,  and  raised  the  taper  up  until  its 
full,  though  faint,  light  fell  upon  her  face. 

And  now  Cleve  Stuart  recognized  her. 

It  was  Mary  Pole.  He  saw  that  she  was  fast  asleep; 
but  her  eyes  were  wide  open  and  staring  fixedly,  yet  seeing 
nothing;  they  were  as  the  eyes  of  the  dead. 

"A  somnambulist !"  murmured  Stuart  to  himself,  as  he 
watched  her  in  some  little  awe,  for  he  had  never  seen  this 
phenomenon  before. 

Eemembering  the  danger  of  suddenly  awakening  such  a 
sleeper  he  lay  very  still,  scarcely  breathing,  but  following 
her  with  his  eyes. 

She  came  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  set  the  taper  on  a 
little  stand  that  stood  near  the  head  of  the  bed.  then  tools 
up  Cleve's  trousers,  felt  in  his  pockets,  and  drew  forth  a 
bunch  of  keys. 

Then  she  took  up  the  taper  again  and  moved  down  the 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  879 

room  to  where  the  large  Saratoga  trunk  stood,  locked  and 
strapped,  and  ready  for  the  van  in  the  morning. 

She  drew  a  flat-bottomed  chair  forward,  placed  the  taper 
and  the  keys  upon  it,  and  then  knelt  down  before  the  trunk, 
which  she  began  to  unstrap. 

Cleve  Stuart,  cautiously  raising  himself  on  his  elbow, 
watched  her  as  well  as  he  could  from  that  distance. 

When  she  had  laid  off  the  last  strap  she  reached  for  the 
keys,  unlocked  the  trunk  and  raised  the  lid. 

Stuart  nearly  tumbled  out  of  bed  in  his  efforts  to  lean  far 
enough  to  see  what  she  was  doing.  He  would  have  gotten 
out  and  crossed  the  floor  in  his  bare  feet,  but  that  he  knew 
the  boards  had  a  habit  of  creaking  under  footfalls,  loud 
enough  to  waken  any  sleeper;  so  he  only  leaned  as  far  out 
as  he  could,  and  watched  her  as  closely  as  possible.  What 
was  she  after? 

Oh !  He  saw  now !  It  was  the  pretty  little  box  of  em- 
broidered pocket  handkerchiefs  that  he  had  brought  from 
the  city  for  Palma. 

She  took  out  the  box  from  the  top  of  the  tray,  laid  it  on 
the  chair,  and  then  locked  the  trunk,  and  finally  took  up 
the  taper  in  one  hand,  the  little  box  and  the  keys  in  the 
other,  and  came  back  toward  the  bed. 

Cleve  Stuart  sank  silently  back  on  his  pillow,  and 
watched  her  with  wide-open  eyes. 

She  set  the  box  and  the  taper  on  the  little  stand,  took 
up  his  trousers  again,  found  the  pocket,  replaced  the  keys, 
and  hung  the  garment  over  the  back  of  the  chair.  Finally 
she  took  up  the  box  and  the  taper  and  moved  off  with  them. 

Stuart  had  to  turn  all  around  with  his  face  to  the  head 
of  the  bed  to  watch  her  now,  for  she  was  going  toward  the 
mantelpiece  that  was  standing  parallel  to  the  headboard, 
though  several  feet  further  toward  the  front. 

Here  she  set  the  taper  on  the  end  of  the  mantelpiece, 
and  came  around  to  the  side. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  wooden  frame,  very  large  and 
clumsy.  She  stood  on  the  side  nearest  the  bed,  fumbling 
at  the  woodwork.  Presently  a  small  door  opened  under  her 
touch.  She  pushed  the  box  in  and  closed  the  door,  which 
shut  with  a  snap. 

Then  she  stood  up  and  stared  around  the  room,  evidently 
seeing  nothing,  yet  seeming  to  observe  if  all  were  right. 


2fcO  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Then  she  went  and  took  the  flat-bottomed  chair  from  before 
the  trunk  and  set  it  back  in  its  place. 

Finally  she  came  and  took  the  taper  from  the  mantel- 
piece, crossed  the  room,  opened  the  door  and  went  out, 
locking  the  door  after  her  and  withdrawing  the  key. 

Cleve  Stuart  lay  as  if  stunned  for  a  minute  after  the 
somnambulist  had  disappeared.  He  listened  for  her  re- 
treating footsteps,  but  could  not  hear  a  sound.  She  had 
gone  away  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  come.  She  moved  in 
her  sleep  as  silently  as  a  shadow. 

How  had  she  managed  to  enter  the  room,  he  wondered. 
He  himself  had  locked  the  door,  and  left  the  key  in  its 
place  before  he  went  to  bed.  How,  then,  could  she  have 
got  in? 

He  determined  to  investigate  the  matter  at  once,  even  at 
the  risk  of  disturbing  the  sleeping  Palm  a ;  though  he  hoped 
to  be  able  to  move  about  without  waking  her.  He  arose 
cautiously,  felt  about  in  the  dark  for  his  dressing  gown, 
found  it  and  slipped  it  on,  felt  for  the  box  of  matches  on 
the  stand,  found  it,  and  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the 
wax  candle  that  stood  near.  Then  he  glanced  at  Palma, 
saw  that  she  was  still  sleeping  soundly,  with  her  back  to  the 
light,  and  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  he  had  not  roused  her,  he  crossed  the  room  and  looked 
at  the  lock  of  the  door.  The  light  gleamed  upon  some  steel 
object  half  buried  in  the  white  wool  of  the  door  mat  inside. 

It  was  the  key  of  the  room. 

He  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and  then  he  understood 
how  the  somnambulist  had  come  in.  She  had  pushed  the 
proper  key  out  of  its  hole  so  that  it  fell  on  the  soft  mat 
noiselessly  in  the  inside.  Then  she  had  put  in  the  chamber- 
maid's pass  key  to  which  she  had  access,  and  so  had  un- 
locked the  door  and  entered  the  room,  and  she  had  locked 
the  door  after  her  by  the  same  means  when  she  went  out. 

Stuart  replaced  the  key  in  its  hole,  and  then  took  the 
wax  candle  and  went  over  to  the  mantelpiece  to  investigate 
the  secrets  of  that  end  cupboard.  It  was  in  the  elaborately 
wrought  framework  of  the  old-fashioned  fabric,  and  might 
have  escaped  attention  from  anyone  who  did  not  know  of 
its  existence.  Yet  it  was  not  hard  to  open.  The  timbers 
had  shrunk,  and  the  spring  was  easily  found,  being  partly 
exposed. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  281 

Cleve  pressed  it,  and  the  little  door  flew  open. 

He  held  the  candle  clo^e,  and  saw  first  the  box  of  hand- 
kerchiefs. He  took  that  out  and  laid  it  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  then  held  the  candle  in  the  cupboard  to  see  what  else 
might  be  there. 

A  spectacle  case! 

He  took  it  out,  opened  it,  and  found  the  spectacles  whose 
loss  Mrs.  Pole  had  been  bewailing  for  a  month  past. 

He  put  his  hand  in,  and  touched — another  case !  A  wild 
hope  that  he  scarcely  dared  to  receive  darted  into  his  mind. 
He  drew  it  out,  tore  it  open,  and  there,  flashing  in  his  eyes, 
dazzling  his  sight,  were  his  diamonds  ! 

He  could  scarcely  repress  a  cry  of  delight  and  amaze- 
ment. He  gazed  at  them,  feasted  his  eyes  on  them,  for 
to  him  they  meant  comfortable  provision  for  his  delicate 
wife  for  the  winter  at  least. 

He  removed  everything  from  the  little  cupboard.  There 
was  nothing  besides  the  articles  already  mentioned.  He 
laid  the  spectacles  on  the  mantelpiece,  but  took  his  keys, 
opened  the  trunk  and  locked  his  diamonds  up  securely,  and 
hid  the  keys  under  a  corner  of  the  mattress,  lest  the  sleep- 
walker should  take  another  fancy  to  make  a  nocturnal  visit 
to  the  room. 

Finally,  he  blew  out  the  candle,  threw  off  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  slipped  into  bed,  resolving  for  good  reasons  not 
to  say  anything  to  Pahna  or  to  Mrs.  Pole  of  the  night's 
event. 

But  there  was  no  more  sleep  for  him.  He  heard  the 
clock  strike  every  hour.  When  it  struck  five  he  arose  and 
opened  a  side  window  that  would  not  let  the  light  in 
directly  on  Palma's  face,  and  awaken  her.  Then  he  dressed 
and  walked  out  on  the  piazza. 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and  was  shining  through  the 
trees  on  the  higher  mountain's  top. 

The  house  was  actively  astir. 

He  walked  up  and  down  for  about  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  when  Palma  came  out  dressed  in  her  traveling  suit, 
except  her  hat  and  gloves,  and  joined  them. 

"You  slept  well  last  night,  dear?" 

"I  never  awoke  from  the  time  I  lay  down  until  I  rose 
this  morning." 

"Happy  sleeper!    I  have  good  news  for  you,  dear." 


282  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  have  found  the  diamonds!" 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  catching  her  breath.    "  Where  ?" 

"In  a  little  secret  closet." 

"A  little  secret  closet !    What  closet  ?" 

"In  the  end  of  the  mantelpiece.  I  will  show  it  to  you 
when  we  go  in;  not  now.  There  is  the  breakfast  bell. 
Come,  we  will  go  in.  But  stop.  Where  is  Mrs.  Pole  ?" 

"Why,  there  she  is  now.    Just  going  into  our  room." 

"Hasn't  she  been  in  there  before  this  morning?"  in- 
quired Stuart,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  motions  of  the 
woman  as  she  entered  the  chamber. 

"Oh,  yes,  when  I  rang  for  her  she  came  to  wait  on  me." 

"Has  she  been  alone  in  the  room  this  morning?  Did  you 
leave  her  there  when  you  came  out?" 

"No ;  she  has  not  been  alone  an  instant  until  now.  Before 
I  left  the  room  I  sent  her  to  hang  my  wrapper  on  the  line, 
to  air  it  before  packing  it  away  in  the  bag.  And  she  has 
just  brought  it  in." 

Cleve  Stuart  saw  that.  He  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off 
the  woman  since  her  entrance  into  the  room. 

"But,  dear,"  said  Palma,  reverting  to  the  previous  ques- 
tion, "I  am  so  delighted  that  you  have  found  the  diamonds ! 
How  could  they  have  come  in  that  secret  closet?  I  never 
even  knew  that  there  was  a  closet  there.  Did  you  ?" 

"Not  until  very  recently." 

"But  how  could  the  diamonds  have  got  there?" 

"Some  one  must  have  stowed  them  away  for  safe  keep- 
ing. It  was  a  very  secure  hiding  place." 

"Did  you  do  it,  Cleve?" 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  remembrance  of  ever  having 
done  so,"  he  replied,  evasively. 

"Yet,  of  course,  it  must  have  been  you.  Why  didn't  you 
think  of  the  closet  before?  And  how  came  you  to  think 
of  it  this  morning  ?" 

"I  was  making  a  final  search  before  giving  up  the  room," 
again  replied  Cleve,  not  untruthfully,  but  evasively. 

"It  is  well  you  thought  of  that.  Oh,  suppose  we  had 
gone  away,  and  left  the  treasure  to  remain  hidden,  per- 
haps, a  hundred  years,  until  the  old  house  should  be  pulled 
down  and  no  owner  found  for  the  jewels !" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  283 

"Well,  but,  dear,  it  has  not  happened  so.  Now  go  in  to 
breakfast.  I  will  join  you  in  a  few  minutes/'  he  said. 

"But  why  not  come  with  me,  Cleve?  You  were  up  ear- 
lier than  I,  and  must  be  hungry,"  she  inquired,  lingering. 

"Because  I  am  waiting But  go  in,  dear.  I  will  fol- 
low soon." 

Paima  left  him  with  a  smile,  and  joined  the  group  of 
ladies  who  were  going  toward  the  breakfast  room. 

Stuart  was  waiting — waiting  for  Mrs.  Pole  to  leave  the 
bedroom.  And,  meantime,  he  had  not  once  taken  his  eyes 
off  her. 

He  now  seated  himself  on  the  bench  behind  one  of  the 
window  shutters  that  was  folded  back  against  him,  and 
from  which  covert  he  could  watch,  unseen,  every  motion  of 
the  woman  within  the  room. 

He  did  not  suspect  Mrs.  Pole  of  having  stolen  his  dia- 
monds. He  believed  her  to  be  thoroughly  honest.  But  he 
wanted  to  support  his  faith  by  "confirmation  strong  as 
proof  from  the  Holy  Writ."  So  he  watched  her  closely, 
feeling  somewhat  humiliated  at  playing  the  part  of  a  spy, 
yet  justified  by  the  end  in  view. 

Mrs.  Pole  moved  about  the  room,  picking  up  and  folding 
garments,  gathering  combs,  brushes,  slippers  and  other 
things  that  had  been  in  use  since  the  trunk  was  closed,  and 
packing  them  in  a  carpetbag.  She  never  went  near  the 
secret  closet,  nor  even  reached  her  hand  to  the  mantelshelf, 
where  she  might  have  found  her  missing  spectacles. 

Finally,  having  closed  and  clasped  the  bag,  she  left  the 
room  and  locked  the  door  after  her. 

Cleve  Stuart  felt  much  relieved.  Yes;  he  had  believed 
her  to  be  trustworthy,  or,  rather,  he  believed  that  he  be- 
lieved this;  but  he  was  inwardly  rejoiced  to  have  his  con- 
fidence justified. 

He  came  into  the  hall  as  Mrs.  Pole  was  withdrawing  the 
key  from  the  lock. 

"Good  morning,  sir  !"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "I  thought 
you  was  at  breakfast,  and  was  just  a-going  to  send  this  key 
to  you  by  one  of  the  waitresses;  but  will  you  take  it  now?" 

Cleve  took  it  with  a  word  of  thanks,  and  went  on  to  the 
breakfast  room,  where  he  dropped  into  the  vacant  chair 
that  that  had  been  left  for  him  beside  his  wife. 

Nearly  everyone  else  had  finished  and  left  the  table. 


284.  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"I  have  been  thinking,  dear,  that  you  might  prefer  going 
to  the  city  by  the  steamboat,"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"  Oh,  I  should !  So  much !  But  I  thought  there  was  no 
boat  to  stop  here  in  the  morning !"  she  exclaimed. 

"There  is  one  touches  Lull's  Landing  at  three  in  the 
afternoon;  if  you  would  not  mind  getting  into  the  city 
rather  late  we  can  go  by  that." 

"I  should  be  delighted;  for  though  there  is  no  moon,  the 
starlight  is  so  brilliant  at  this  season  that  the  nights  must 
be  splendid  on  the  river." 

"So  be  it,  then.  We  need  not  leave  here  until  after 
lunch." 

They  finished  breakfast,  and  went  on  the  piazza,  where 
some  of  their  fellow  boarders,  who  were  going  away  that 
morning,  stood  in  their  traveling  suits  waiting  for  the  stage 
to  come  around  from  the  stables. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  put  on  your  hat,  Mrs.  Stuart  ?  The 
coach  will  be  around  presently?" 

"We  have  decided  to  remain  for  the  boat,"  Palma  ex- 
plained. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  other  lady,  and  the  conversation 
dropped. 

The  hotel  stage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  and  driven  by 
Jake  Lull,  came  rolling  around  to  the  front  of  the  house. 
The  passengers  that  were  going  bade  a  hasty  good-by  to 
those  who  were  staying,  and  took  their  seats  and  drove 
away. 

Cleve  and  Palma  returned  to  their  room.  Palma  rang  for 
Mrs.  Pole,  who,  having  finished  her  breakfast,  soon  made 
her  appearance. 

Stuart  explained  to  the  good  woman  that  they  were  not 
to  leave  the  house  until  half-past  one  o'clock,  and  that  they 
should  take  the  three  o'clock  boat  from  Lull's  Landing. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"And  now  I  have  got  a  surprise  for  you,"  said  the  young 
man,  reaching  for  the  spectacle  case  on  the  high  mantel- 
shelf. "Here  is  the  lost  treasure  that  you  have  been  so 
long  lamenting." 

"Lord  sakes !"  exclaimed  the  woman.  "Where  did  you 
find  'em,  sir?" 

"Guess,"  he  said. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  285 

"  I  couldn't  to  save  my  life,  for  I  have  searched  every  inch 
of  every  place  and  could  not  get  'em !" 

"I  found  them  right  here.  Come  and  see,"  said  Stuart, 
leading  the  way  to  the  secret  closet  at  the  end  of  the  mantel- 
piece, and  pressing  the  spring  until  the  little  door  flew 
open. 

"  The  Lord  bless  us  and  save  us !  What  a  hole !  It 
makes  one  think  of  ghosts  and  old  castles  and  subterram- 
bulous  passages  and  things !"  exclaimed  the  woman,  peering 
into  the  closet  with  genuine  amazement  and  curiosity. 

"Bid  you  know  of  this  closet?" 

"Never  dreamed  of  it,  sir!  And  how  did  my  specs  get 
there?  I  begin  to  believe  in  sperrits!" 

"Well,  you  have  something  to  think  about  now,"  said 
Stuart. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  MEETING 

JUDY,  carrying  on  her  arm  the  little  basket  of  children's 
stockings  that  Mrs.  Moseley  had  given  her  to  darn,  left  the 
colonel's  quarters,  feeling  very  happy  in  having  something 
to  do  for  the  "good  lady"  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her  and 
to  Ran. 

She  sang  as  she  tripped  along  the  walk,  between  flower 
beds,  on  her  way  to  the  hospital.  The  wild  birds  were  sing- 
ing, too,  for  the  day  was  very  fine,  the  sky  very  blue,  and  the 
air  very  fresh  and  full  of  perfume. 

What  the  birds  sang,  bird  linguists  only  could  translate, 
all  others  could  only  understand  a 

"  'Joy'  in  the  'songs,'  but  not  the  'songs.'  " 

But  what  the  Irish  maiden  sang  was  a  refrain  from  one 
of  the  old  melodies  of  her  favorite  national  poet,  Tom. 
Moore.  She  sang  freely,  rapturously,  because  she  thought 
there  was  no  one  but  the  birds  in  hearing : 

"Oh !  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  dream ! 
No !  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young ' 


286  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Ged  Lorrd  save  us,  Mike !  Is  it  yourself,  sure  ?  Or 
is  it  a  ghost  ?  Or  have  ye  dhropped  down  from  the  clouds 
foreninst  me  the  day?"  suddenly  exclaimed  Judy  to  the 
brother  whom  she  had  come  upon  in  her  walk. 

"Sure,  and  it's  a  pretty  chase  as  ye've  led  me,  through 
fifty  miles  av  a  howling  wiltherniss !  What  the  divil  ivir 
possessed  ye  to  start  on  sich  a  wild  goose  chase  afther  a 
dhrame  ?"  demanded  Mike,  more  in  merriment  than  in  dis- 
pleasure. 

"Sure,  thin,  me  dhrame  kirn  thrue,  and  jestified  itself," 
retorted  Judy. 

"It's  ravin'  mad  ye  was  to  set  off  yer  lone  to  walk 
through  thim  woods.  It's  jest  wonderful  the  wolves  didn't 
ate  ye,  or  the  Injuns  skelp  ye,  or  the  ruffins  mouther  ye." 

"I  had  dear  Tip  with  me.  He  wouldn't  let  anything 
harrum  me." 

"Two  days  and  a  night  on  the  thramp!  You,  a  young 
gurrul !  Two  days  and  a  night  on  the  thramp !" 

"I  slept  in  a  big,  beautiful  hollow  tree,  with  Tip  slaping 
at  the  fut  av  it  and  keeping  one  eye  open  on  guard." 

"Och !  bad  cess  till  it  all,  it's  glad  I'll  be  whin  yer  safe 
married  to  Misther  Hay,  and  aff  the  hands  av  meself !" 

"  Aff  the  hands  av  ye !  Hear  till  him !  Whin  I've  been 
mother  and  feyther  to  ye  ivir  since  we  rin  away  thegether 
and  sit  up  housekaping,  let  alone  being  your  own  twin 
swishter." 

"And  so  ye  hev,  Judy.  And  I'd  brek  the  jaw  av  the  man 
as  would  say  ye  hadn't.  And  how  is  the  bhoy  himself  ?" 

"Maning  Ran?" 

"Av  coorse!  maning  Ran."    • 

"Oh,  thin,  he's  out  av  danger,  and  much  better,  the 
saints  be  praised.  He's  aslape  now.  Or  lasteways  he  was 
aslape  whin  I  lift  him  an  hour  ago  to  get  me  dinner." 

"  Sure,  and  he  must  be  one  av  the  sivin  slapers.  He  was 
aslape  whin  I  kem  this  morning  and  axed  to  see  him." 

"And  the  more  he  slapes,  the  betther  for  him But 

whin  did  you  say  you  kem,  Mike — this  morning?" 

"Yes  " 

"And  what  med  ye  come,  Mike,  ava?" 

"What  med  me  come  ?  Hear  till  her !  Wouldn't  I  come 
to  look  afther  ye,  Judy?" 

"So  ye  found  the  writing,  did  ye,  Mike?" 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  287 

"  Yis !  but  not  until  the  nixt  morning.  Sure  I  was  late 
getting  home  that  same  night,  and  I  thought  ye  had  got 
tired  wid  waiting  on  me,  and  had  turned  in  and  gone  to 
elape ;  for,  d'ye  see,  the  blanket  was  hanging  down  forninst 
fer  bed.  So  not  to  disturb  ye,  I  turned  in  meself  as  quiet 
as  I  could,  and  nivir  a  suspicion  ye  had  run  away  till  the 
nixt  morning  when  I  found  the  writing,  stuck  up  agin  the 
wall!  Och!  then  didn't  I  raise  a  hullabaloo!  Sure  if  I 
had  found  it  the  night  before,  I  should  have  been  twelve 
hours  suner  on  the  trail  av  ye,  and  twinty-four  hours  suner 
to  find  ye?" 

"I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,  Mike." 

"Ye  don't,  don't  ye?  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  ye.  First,  by 
not  finding  the  writing  at  tay  time,  whin  I  ought  to  her 
been  home,  I  lost  twilve  hours  at  Grizzly.  And  thin,  be 
raiching  Longman's  afther  tattoo  had  baten  at  the  fort, 
I  lost  twilve  more  hours  there.  And  twilve  and  twilve  mek 
twinty-four,  or  ilse  the  hooly  broothers  av  St.  Joseph's 
tached  me  me  'rithmetic  wrong!" 

"And  did  you  come  alone,  Mike?" 

"Divil  a  step.  It's  only  advanturous  hayroines,  like  Judy 
Man,  that  thramps  through  the  howling  wildtherniss  her 
lone." 

"Who  come  wid  ye,  Mike?" 

"Misther  Andrew  Quin,  sure,  and  his  dog,  Nep." 

"Uncle  Dandy!     Oh,  what  a  good  old  fellow  he  IB!" 

"  Yis,  and  his  dog !  Oh,  I  say,  Judy,  betwane  your  dog, 
Tip,  and  Dandy's  dog,  Nep,  this  New  Nighted  States  fort 
has  a  consayderable  ra}rinforcemint !" 

"Thrue  for  ye,  Mike,  me  darlint!  And  naded  it  is!" 
answered  Judy,  solemnly,  not  seeing  the  least  of  a  joke. 
"And  it's  naded  they  are,"  she  repeated,  "for  they  talk  of 
a  rising  among  the  Injuns,  which,  by  the  same  token,  the 
colonel  himself  has  gone  to  Vigil,  to-day,  to  see  about  the 
diffinces.  And  now,  here  we  be  at  the  hospital,  and  I'll  jest 
go  me  ways  inside,  and  see  if  me  poor  Ran  is  awake  and  if 
the  docther  will  lave  ye  see  him." 

Mike  threw  himself  down  on  a  bench  outside  the  door. 

Judy  passed  on  and  went  upstairs  to  the  ward  where 
Ran  lay. 

Old  Peter  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  outside  the  ward 


288  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

door,  but  rose  to  his  feet,  and  opened  it  for  the  young  girl 
to  pass  in. 

Dr.  Hill  was  standing  beside  the  bed. 

"And  how  is  he  by  this  time,  docther,  dear?"  inquired 
Judy,  going  up  to  his  side. 

"Bright  as  a  new  sixpence.  Almost  able  to  handle  a 
musket,  in  case  of  the  expected  attack  by  the  Piutes,"  re- 
plied the  surgeon,  making  way  for  the  young  girl. 

"And  what  do  ye  say  av  yersilf,  Ran,  darlint?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"I  am  getting  well,  sweet  Judy,  and  all  the  faster  for 
seeing  you,"  he  answered,  fondly. 

"That's  me  darlint  bhoy!  And  now,  docther,  dear,"  she 
said,  turning  to  the  surgeon,  who  was  leaving  the  room, 
"will  he  be  able  for  the  sight  av  a  good  frind  as  hev  come 
all  the  way  from  Grizzly  to  see  him  ?" 

"You  mean  your  brother,  Mike?" 

"Yis,  plaise,  sirr." 

"Oh,  yes !  he  may  see  him.    I  will  send  him  up." 

"Thank  ye,  docther,"  said  Judy. 

The  surgeon  left  the  room,  and  Judy  began  to  prepare 
her  patient  for  his  visitor;  but  found  her  work  forestalled 
when  Ran  raised  his  eyes,  and  said : 

"So  Mike  has  come  to  see  me,  has  he?  Dear,  faithful 
Mike?" 

"Och,  sure,  the  ears  av  ye  are  sharp  enough,  anyhow! 
And  the  hurt  hasn't  hurt  thim !"  replied  Judy,  with  a 
laugh. 

"But  Mike  has  come,  hasn't  he?"  inquired  Ran. 

"  Oh,  ay !  Mike  has  come.  He'll  be  here  to  see  ye  pris- 
intly." 

Judy  had  scarcely  spoken,  before  Mike  entered  the  room, 
admitted  by  old  Peter. 

He  came  straight  up  to  the  bed. 

Ran  held  out  his  hand  in  welcome. 

Judy  withdrew  a  little  to  let  the  visitor  approach. 

"Och,  Ran,  me  jewel,  it's  divilish  sorry  I  am  to  see  ye  in 
sich  a  plight,"  began  Mike. 

"  Stow  that,  my  boy !  I  am  ever  so  much  better !  And 
ever  so  glad  to  see  you !"  exclaimed  Ran,  pressing  the  hand 
of  his  friend. 

"See  that  now !    The  bowld  bhoy  that  he  is !  Making  so 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  289 

light  o'  the  wounds  and  bruises  that  did  for  his  mate  in- 
tirely !"  exclaimed  Mike. 

"  Did  for  his  mate  intirely !  Whativir  do  ye  mane,  Mike  ?" 
inquired  Judy. 

"He  alludes  to  the  fate  of  poor  Delamere,  Judy.  Don't 
be  afraid  of  me.  I  expected  it,  dear.  I  knew  when  I 
learned  that  I  had  been  picked  up  for  dead,  and  my  poor 
traveling  companion  was  not  to  be  found,  that  he  was  dead, 
indeed.  Both  of  us  were  struck  down  by  the  deadly  Piutes, 
who  are  said  to  be  on  the  warpath.  You  need  not  mind 
speaking  before  me.  I  probably  know  or  guess  as  much  as 
you  can  tell  me,"  said  Kan,  calmly. 

"But  I — I  didn't  know  a  thing  about  it.  Is  Gintleman 
Geff  dead?"  inquired  Judy,  aghast. 

"Yis,  he  is,  poor  fellow,"  answered  Mike. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  man !  And  many  and  many  is  the  shirts 
I've  done  up  for  him !  And  he  that  particular  wid  his 
linen !  And  to  come  to  sich  an  ind  in  the  prime  av  his  life ! 
Och,  hone !  'All  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  the  spirit !'  But 
how  did  you  know  it,  Ran,  and  me  and  the  good  docther 
guarding  av  ye  agin  all  sorts  of  shocks?" 

"I  guessed  it,  Judy.  I  guessed  the  same  agency  that 
wounded  me  killed  him.  You  see,  dear,  those  redskins  steal 
on  us  under  the  shadow  of  the  darkness  of  night,  invisible 
and  noiseless,  and  pick  us  off.  Their  aim  is  sure,  and  in 
most  instances,  certain  and  instantaneous  death.  They 
must  have  drawn  simultaneously  on  each  of  MS.  They 
must  have  stricken  us  down  in  the  same  instant — Delamere 
to  death,  myself  to  something  very  near  it,"  Kan  explained. 

"  And  you  guessed  all  this  ?"  inquired  Judy. 

"Yes;  or  rather  I  deduced  it  from  precedents."1 

"You  did— what?" 

"I  thought  it  must  be  so  from  what  had  gone  before," 
said  Ran,  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Judy,  perfectly  satisfied.  Then  turn- 
ing to  Mike,  she  inquired: 

"But  you !  How  did  you  find  out  what  had  come  to  poor 
Gintlemen  Gen*?  Ah,  was  he  that  particular  about  his 
collars  and  cuffs  and  handkerchiefs?  How  did  you  find 
out,  Mike?  Why  don't  you  answer  me?" 

"By  finding  of  his  dead  body  in  the  woods  as  I  came 
along,"  gruffly  replied  Mike. 


290  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Judy  recoiled,  and  shuddered  and  moaned  under  her 
breath : 

"Oh-h-h-h!" 

"You  found  that?"  said  Ran,  staring  in  horror. 

"To  the  divil  wid  ye,  Mike,  to  hev  no  betther  sinse  than 
to  say  that  same  in  the  prisence  av  a  wounded  man!"  in- 
dignantly exclaimed  Judy. 

"  Sure,  now,  wasn't  it  yer  own  silf  that  axed  me  ?"  com- 
plained Mike,  with  the  air  of  injured  innocence. 

"Dont  be  afraid  for  me,  Judy.  I  am  not  so  weak,  dear, 
that  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  truth.  It  is  dreadful,  dear. 
But  no  more  dreadful  and  no  more  hurtful  for  me  to  hear 
than  for  you,  or  even  for  Mike,"  said  Ean,  so  calmly  that 
his  voice  dispelled  all  their  fears. 

"Sure,  sick  and  wounded,  and  lying  on  the  flat  av  yer 
back  as  ye  be,  ye're  worth  the  two  av  us  put  together,"  said 
Mike. 

"Not  at  all.  But  now,  then,  tell  me  all  about  it,  Mike. 
I  can  bear  to  hear  quite  as  well  as  you  can  bear  to  speak. 
I  have  not  a  bit  of  fever,  old  fellow.  If  I  had,  the  surgeon 
would  never  have  allowed  you  to  come  to  me.  So  now  go 
on." 

Thus  encouraged,  Mike  began,  and  told  the  whole  history 
of  his  journey  through  the  wilderness,  the  principal  inci- 
dent of  which  was  the  finding  of  the  nude  and  mutilated 
dead  body  in  the  woods,  with  nothing  to  connect  it  with  the 
identity  of  Gentleman  Geff,  except  such  general  features  as 
height,  size,  color  of  hair  and  beard,  and  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances. 

"Poor  fellow!  Poor  fellow!  Will  he  have  Christian 
burial  ?"  at  last  inquired  Ean. 

"The  skeleton  will.  There's  nothing  ilse  lift  forbye  the 
yallor  hair  and  beard.  As  soon  as  the  colonel  comes  home 
mesilf  will  make  a  'port  till  him.  And  sure  he'll  sind  a 
squad  to  bring  the  remains — what's  lift  av  thim — to  the 
fort  to  have  Christian  burial  in  the  cimitiry,"  said  Mike. 

"Poor  Delamere !  Poor  fellow !  If  he  had  not  so  kindly 
volunteered  to  see  me  safe  to  San  Francisco  he  would  not 
have  met  with  this  fate!"  groaned  Ran,  more  deeply 
affected  than  his  companions  had  expected  him  to  be. 

Mike,  with  a  praiseworthy  intention  to  remedy  the  evil 
done  by  changing  the  subject,  observed : 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  291 

"Ye  haven't  axed  me  yit  how  I  kem  to  be  crossing  the 
wilderness  when  I  kem  upon  the — the — the  remains — what 
there  was  av  thirn." 

"Oh,  I  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  you  followed  Judy,, 
even  as  Judy  had  followed  me,"  said  Ran,  with  a  weary 
sigh. 

"Och,  thin,  it's  good  at  guessing  ye  are!"  exclaimed 
'Mike,  somewhat  relieved. 

"  Oh !  poor  Delamere !  Poor  fellow !  If  it  had  not  been 
for  his  kindness  to  me  he  might  have  been  alive  now !" 
groaned  Ran,  beginning  to  turn  restlessly  in  his  bed. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  I  say !  No  more  av  that,  if  ye  plaise. 
Sure,  it  was  all  written  down  in  the  book  av  fate,  and  it 
had  to  be  accomplished.  Thrue  for  ye,  it  had!"  Mike  ex- 
postulated. 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  his  kindness  to  me !"  If  it  had 
not  been  for  his  kindness  to  me!"  groaned  Ran,  tossing 
from  side  to  side. 

All  these  voices,  and  even  these  motions,  reached  the  ears 
of  the  old  veteran  who  was  on  guard  at  the  door. 

He  got  up  with  the  help  of  his  crutch,  hobbled  into  the 
room  and  up  to  the  bedside,  and  unceremoniously  took 
Mike  by  his  left  ear  and  turned  him  around,  saying : 

"Ye  hev  thro  wed  the  patient  into  a  fayver,  so  ye  hev. 
And  now  ye'll  lave  this  immadiately,  or  ye'll  go  into  the 
guardhouse  for  disortherly  condict.  D'ye  hear  me?" 

"What  in  the  divil "  began  Mike,  freeing  himself 

with  a  violent  wrench. 

But  Judy  interfered. 

"Ye'll  go  quiet,  Mike  darlint.  Don't  mind  the  ould  man. 
He  manes  well.  And  he's  waited  on  Ran  that  faithful !  But 
he's  a  little  doty.  So  don't  mind  him,  but  go  quiet;  for, 
oh,  see !  I'm  afeard  we  have  riz  Ran's  faver !"  she  pleaded. 

"All  right,  Judy.  I'll  go  if  you  tell  me.  And  I'll 
always  be  found  till  further  notice  at  Samson  Longman's 
lodge.  Hands  off !  ye  ould  Aygyptian  mummy  I"  exclaimed 
Mike,  speaking  submissively  to  his  sister  and  defiantly  to 
the  old  soldier. 

"Lave  him  alone,  Misther  Father,  plaise,  sirr.  Sure  he's 
only  a  silly,  heady  lad.  But  he'll  go  quiet  as  a  lamb  if  ye'll 
lave  him  alone." 

The  veteran,  smoothed  down  by  Judy,  growled  out  inar- 


292  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

ticulate  observations,  but  ended  by  hobbling  out  of  the 
room,  followed  by  the  indignant  Mike. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you,  or  for  anyone,  to  go  with  me 
through  the  woods,  Delamere.  Thank  you  all  the  same,  old 
fellow,  for  you  are  very  kind ;  but.  really,  there  is  no  need. 
I  do  not  shrink  from  traveling  through  the  wilderness 
alone.  Not  at  all." 

These  words  came,  in  interrupted  murmurs,  from  the  lips 
of  the  wounded  man. 

Judy  bent  over  him,  and  listen'ed  in  anxiety. 

"  Oh !  you  are  really  tired  of  Grizzly !  You  are  really 
thinking  of  leaving !  You  really  wish  to  go  to  'Frisco !  All 
right,  then;  I  shall  be  more  than  glad  of  your  good  com- 
pany," murmured  the  patient,  talking  to  an  imaginary 
companion. 

"Oh,  he  is  out  of  his  head!  He  is  wanthering!"  cried 
Judy,  quite  beside  herself  with  remorse  and  anxiety,  "for 
if  it  had  not  been  for  me  and  Mike  talking  to  him  of  such 
horrid  things,  he  would  not  have  been  hev  into  this  faver 
again!"  she  added. 

Then  she  hurried  to  the  door,  crying: 

"Oh,  Misther  Father !  Misther  Father !  for  the  luve  av 
Hivven,  and  all  the  saints !  go  and  call  the  docther.  Sure 
it's  out  of  av  his  head  he  is,  and  wanthering  in  his  mind 
with  the  faver  that's  rising  on  him !  Oh,  make  haste  and 
go,  Misther  Father !" 

"Sure,  and  I  knew  how  it  would  be,  wid  both  av  yez 
talking  to  him  like  loonies  about  murthers,  and  bones,  and 
skulls,  and  skillitine,  enough  to  rise  any  man's  hair  off  his 
head,  less  it  was  an  owld  vitirin  like  mesilf !"  growled  old 
Peter,  as  he  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  and  hobbled  off  after  the 
surgeon. 

When  Dr.  Hill  came  in,  and  examined  the  man,  he  found 
him  in  a  high  fever,  with  some  delirium. 

He  promptly  sent  away  the  weeping  Judy  and  her  self- 
reproaching  brother,  who  had  given  to  the  excitable  patient 
too  graphic  a  picture  of  the  ghastly  discovery  of  the  mur- 
der in  the  forest. 

Judy,  with  her  workbasket  on  her  arm,  went  back  weep- 
ing to  her  patroness,  Mrs.  Moseley. 

Mike  waited  on  the  outside  of  the  house  for  an  oppor- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  293 

tunity  of  paying  his  respects  to  the  colonel's  wife,  and 
thanking  her  for  the  great  kindness  shown  his  sister. 

Mrs.  Moseley  comforted  Judy,  and  told  her  that  these 
relapses  were  not  uncommon,  and  that  she  must  not  expect 
a  hadly  wounded  man  to  get  well  all  one  way ;  but  this  fever 
would  probably  be  ephemeral  and  soon  yield  to  treatment. 

Then  Judy  gradually  ceased  to  weep,  and  then  spoke  of 
the  arrival  of  her  brother,  who  wished  to  "pay  his  duty"  to 
their  benefactress. 

Mrs.  Moseley  told  her  to  bring  him  in. 

And  Judy  went  out  and  returned,  followed  by  Mike,  who 
seemed  to  be  taken  with  a  sudden  fit  of  bashfulness,  for  he 
came  in  blushing,  bowing,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand  and 
shifting  it  from  right  to  left  and  back  again. 

Mike  was  very  grateful,  and  he  meant  to  be  most  respect- 
ful, most  deferential ;  but,  alack !  when  the  colonel's  wife 
had  greeted  him  kindly,  said  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  and 
hoped  he  was  well,  and  that  she  and  his  good  little  sister 
were  best  friends  already,  all  that  poor  Mike  found  to  say 
was  that  he  was  very  thankful  for  her  "shivility"  to  his 
"swishter." 

Then  he  awkwardly  took  leave,  and  went  out,  followed 
to  the  door  by  Judy. 

"I'll  be  at  Longman's  whiniver  I'm  wanted,  Judy.  And 
I'll  be  here  twice  a  day,  as  sure  as  I  live;  but  betwane  the 
visits  I'll  be  waiting  on  yez  at  Longman's,  if  wanted,"  he 
said,  as  he  kissed  his  sister  good-by. 

Judy  returned  to  Mrs.  Moseley's  sitting  room,  and  re- 
sumed her  work. 

"Who  taught  you  to  darn  so  neatly  with  the  knitting 
stitch,  my  dear?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"The  Sisters  of  the  Sacred  M'aternity.  They  know  how 
to  do  every  sort  of  needlework  better  than  anybody  else  in 
the  wurruld,  I  do  think." 

"It  is  growing  too  dark  to  work  longer,  my  little  girl; 
BO  we  will  stop,"  said  Mrs.  Moseley,  a  few  minutes  later. 

"And,  oh!  if  you  plaise,  ma'am,  may  I  rin  over  to  the 
hospital  to  see  how  me  poor  Kan  is?"  pleaded  Judy. 

"It  is  too  late  for  you  to  be  running  about  the  grounds 
alone,  child ;  besides,  they  would  not  let  you  go  to  Ban's 
bedside  at  present.  I  will  send  a  messenger,  who  will  bring 
me  back  the  surgeon's  report,"  replied  the  lady. 


894  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you  on  me  knees,  ma'am !  Sure  it's  a 
saint  on  earth  and  an  angel  in  hivin  ye  are  all  in  one !"  ex- 
claimed Judy,  fervently  .and  sincerely,  if  a  little  incoherent- 
ly. She  did  not  suffer  under  poor  Mike's  complaint  of 
difficult  utterance  in  the  presence  of  ladies. 

The  messenger  was  sent,  but  the  report  was  not  very  sat- 
isfactory. 

The  patient's  fever  was  high,  and  he  must  be  kept  quiet 
— positively  quiet.  No  one  must  be  allowed  to  come  to 
him,  not  even  his  own  betrothed. 

"Never  fret;  you  shall  see  him  to-morrow,  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Moseley,  soothingly. 

And  Judy,  in  gratitude,  tried  to  be  cheerful. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  COLONEL'S  RETURN 

MRS.  MOSELEY  kept  Judy  with  her,  and  they  sat  up  that 
evening  long  after  the  children  had  gone  to  bed,  waiting  for 
the  colonel. 

It  was  late  when  he  returned  to  the  fort,  and  the  place 
was  so  quiet  at  the  hour  that  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs 
coming  through  the  gate  announced  his  arrival. 

He  seemed  very  weary  from  his  day's  journey,  but 
greeted  his  wife,  the  faithful  companion  of  his  many  years 
of  exile  from  civilized  life,  with  as  much  warmth  as  if  he 
had  just  returned  from  the  antipodes,  instead  of  from  a 
neighboring  fort. 

Judy,  having  assisted  the  lady  in  bringing  in  the  late 
supper  from  the  pantry,  bade  good-night  to  her  friends, 
and  retired  to  her  cosy  little  room. 

The  colonel  told  his  wife  that  the  news  of  the  Indians' 
rising  was  true,  though  much  exaggerated.  They  had 
raided  some  outlying  ranches,  and  driven  off  cattle  and 
burned  barns,  but  that  no  murders  had  been  committed  as 
yet,  and  that  prompt  measures  were  already  adopted  for 
the  suppression  of  the  outbreak. 

Mrs.  Moseley  in  turn  told  the  colonel  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened during  his  absence — of  the  arrival  of  the  two 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  295 

miners  from  Grizzly  Gulch,  and  their  report  of  a  dead  body 
being  found  in  the  black  woods,  which  was  supposed  to  be 
that  of  the  unfortunate  man  who  had  traveled  in  company 
with  Kandolph  Hay,  and  who  was  further  supposed  to  have 
been  killed  at  the  same  time,  and  by  the  same  hands  that 
wounded  Hay. 

"A  stop  must  be  put  to  all  this  violence,"  said  the 
colonel,  gravely,  as  he  left  the  table,  his  supper  scarcely 
tasted,  and  seated  himself  in  his  armchair. 

"A  full  report  of  the  discovery  will  be  made  to  you  by 
the  eye-witnesses  of  the  body  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs. 
Moseley. 

""Who  are  these  men  from  Grizzly  that  brought  the 
news?"  he  next  inquired. 

"Michael  Man,  the  brother  of  Judy » 

"Oh!" 

"And  an  old  man,  his  companion,  whose  name  has 
slipped  my  memory.  They  came  on  in  search  of  Judy,  and 
fell  by  chance  upon  the  scene  of  the  murder." 

"Ah !    Where  are  they  now  ?" 

"Stopping  at  Longman's,  I  understand;  but  they  prom- 
ised to  be  here  to-morrow  morning  to  make  a  full  report 
to  you." 

"That  is  well,"  said  the  colonel. 

Then  he  inquired  after  the  wounded  man  in  the  hospital. 

She  explained  the  relapse  of  the  patient  as  well  as  she 
was  able  to  do  it. 

Soon  after  this  conversation  the  pair  retired  to  rest. 

Anxiety  for  Ban's  safety  kept  Judy  awake  nearly  all  that 
night.  It  was  near  morning  when  fatigue  overcame  uneasi- 
ness and  she  fell  asleep ;  but  not  for  any  long  time. 

At  sunrise  she  was  aroused  by  the  reveille.  It  did  not 
frighten  her  as  on  the  preceding  morning,  but  it  effectually 
startled  her,  for  she  immediately  sprang  out  of  bed.  Her 
first  thought  was  of  Ean.  She  dressed  herself  in  haste, 
and  without  waiting  for  breakfast,  she  sped  away  across  the 
courtyard  to  the  hospital  to  inquire  after  Ran. 

She  was  met  by  the  surgeon,  who  took  her  to  his  office, 
and  in  answer  to  her  breathless  inquiries,  told  her  that  his 
patient's  fever  still  ran  high — so  high  that  the  utmost  quiet 
was  absolutely  necessary;  that  he  was  carefully  watched  by 
a  veteran  soldier  of  great  skill  and  experience — "and 


296  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

almost  as  good  a  doctor  as  I  am  myself/'  added  the  sur- 
geon. 

"And  mayn't  I  Bee  him  one  minute — just  one  minute?" 
pleaded  Judy. 

"No,  my  child;  not  one  minute.  He  is  in  excellent 
hands  now,  and  if  you  care  for  him  you  will  be  willing  to 
leave  him  so,"  said  Dr.  Hill. 

"If  I  care  for  him !  If  I  care  for  me  Ran !  Just  hear 
till  the  man !"  exclaimed  Judy. 

"Well,  you  do  care  a  great  deal,  of  course;  so  you  will 
leave  him  to  me  and  the  old  veteran  nurse  until  this  fever 
shall  subside,  when  you  may  come  to  him  again,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

"But  will  the  faver  shubside,  docther,  dear?  Will  it 
shubside  ?"  tearfully  demanded  Judy,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Why,  certainly,  of  course  it  will.  There,  now,  go  back 
to  Mrs.  Moseley,  like  a  dear  little  girl,  and  keep  yourself 
quiet  until  you  hear  better  news,"  said  the  surgeon,  speak- 
ing much  more  hopefully  than  he  had  any  just  cause  to  do. 

Judy  bade  him  good  morning,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
colonel's  quarters,  where  she  was  met  in  the  front  flower 
yard  by  Letty,  the  thirteen-year-old  daughter  of  the  house, 
who  caught  her  hand,  and  said: 

"Come,  Miss  Judy;  I  have  been  looking  for  you  all  over 
the  house.  They  are  all  sitting  down  to  table  eating  break- 
fast, and  the  coffee's  all  getting  cold." 

"And  you  out  here,  missing  av  yer  morning  male  by 
waiting  for  me !  Oh,  the  angil  that  ye  are,  Miss  Litty ! 
And  sure  ye  could  do  nothing  else,  being  yer  own  mither's 
daughter!"  exclaimed  Judy,  effusively,  but  sincerely. 

"Fiddle-dee,  Judy,"  said  the  little  lady,  leading  the  way 
to  the  breakfast  room. 

Col.  Moseley  had  finished  breakfast  and  gone  over  to  his 
adjutant's  office. 

Mrs.  Moseley  was  at  the  head  of  the  table  attending  to 
the  wants  of  her  numerous  sons  and  daughters. 

She  welcomed  Judy,  and  kindly  inquired  after  Ran,  and 
when  she  had  received  the  rather  unfavorable  report  of  his 
condition  she  tried  to  comfort  Judy  by  telling  her  that 
such  cases  had  been  very  common  in  her  past  experience  of 
head  wounds,  and  that  they  almost  always  recovered,  especi- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  297 

ally  when  the  patient  was  young,  and  strong,  and  of  pre- 
vious habits,  like  Eandolph  Hay. 

Judy  listened  gratefully  and  grew  hopeful. 

After  breakfast,  when  the  children  were  engaged  with 
their  lessons  and  Mrs.  Moseley  with  her  housekeeping 
affairs,  Judy  took  her  basket  of  stockings  and  sat  on  the 
front  porch  to  work  and  watch  for  anyone  who  might  be 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  hospital  that  she  might 
inquire  after  the  condition  of  Kan. 

But  none  came  from  that  quarter. 

Directly  in  front  of  her,  across  the  green  lawn  and  the 
flower  beds,  a  hundred  yards  off,  was  the  gate  of  the  fort, 
with  its  guardhouses  on  each  side,  and  a  solitary  sentinel 
pacing  up  and  down.  Through  the  gate  came  or  went  a 
soldier  on  leave,  or  on  an  errand ;  a  hunter  with  game, 
though  it  was  getting  late  in  the  season  for  that ;  a  fisher- 
man with  fresh  fish,  a  squaw,  or  an  Indian  boy  of  some 
friendly  tribe,  with  chip  baskets,  mats,  or  moccasins  to  sell. 

All  these  Judy  watched  with  interest,  even  while  keeping 
an  eye  on  the  path  leading  from  the  hospital. 

Presently  through  the  gate  came  a  group  that  interested 
her — the  colossal  hunter,  Samson  Longman,  the  little  old 
Grizzly  miner,  Dandy  Quin,  and  her  own  twin  brother, 
Mike  Man.  But  they  never  came  toward  the  colonel's  quar- 
ters, which  was  directly  before  them,  or  turned  toward  the 
hospital,  which  stood  on  their  left,  but  went  straight  to- 
ward the  adjutant's  office,  which  was  on  their  right. 

"And  they  never  even  looked  at  me,"  grumbled  Judy  to 
herself ;  and  being  of  a  lawless  as  well  as  a  fearless  dispo- 
sition, she  slipped  the  half-darned  stocking  off  her  hand, 
threw  it  into  the  workbasket,  and  ran  bareheaded  out  of  the 
porch  and  across  the  yard  to  the  adjutant's  quarters. 

An  orderly  stopped  her  at  the  entrance. 

"And  why  won't  ye  lave  me  go  in?"  she  demanded. 

"It's  orders.  The  colonel's  hearing  the  report  of  two 
men  who  found  a  dead  body  in  the  black  woods,"  replied 
the  soldier. 

And  then  Judy  sat  down  on  a  bench  outside  to  wait. 

She  had  not  long  to  do  so. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  the  three  men  whom  she  had 
seen  go  in  came  out  again. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Judy?"  hailed  Longman. 


298  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Mawning  to  ye,  lass !"  piped  Dandy. 

And  Mike  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  asked  her  how 
Ban  was  getting  on. 

"Half  crazy  wid  the  faver  ye  raised  on  him  wid  your 
gashly  talk  av  murthered  min,  and  skulls  and  skillipins ! 
And  whativir  have  ye  all  been  up  to,  in  yon,  that  you 
eouldn't  lave  a  dacent  gurrl  come  in?"  demanded  Judy. 

"We  have  been  tilling  the  colonel  about  finding  the  body 
av  poor  Giiitleman  Geff,  to  be  sure.  And  the  colonel  is 
going  to  sind  an  ambilince  wid  a  coffin  to  fetch  in  the  re- 
mains, §ure — the  remains,  indade !  Bones  and  ashes,  and 
naught  else  ! — to  give  'em  Christian  burial  in  the  cimitiry." 

"Mike,  I'm  going  my  ways  back  to  Mrs.  Moseley.  Where 
will  ye  be?"  inquired  Judy. 

"I  shill  stay  aboot  here  till  the  ambilince  is  riddy.  Sure, 
Dandy  and  me  and  the  hound  hev  got  to  go  and  show  the 
way  to  the  spot,"  returned  Mike. 

"And  whin  will  ye  lave?" 

"In  an  hour's  toime,  I'm  thinking." 

"And  whin  will  ye  get  back?" 

"It  will  be  late  in  the  afternoon,  I'm  fearing." 

"Well,  I'm  going,"  said  Judy.  And  she  scudded  back 
to  the  colonel's  quarters,  where  she  seated  herself  on  the 
front  porch,  and  resumed  her  task  of  darning  stockings. 

At  about  nine  o'clock  a  rude  pine  coffin,  hastily  "knocked 
together"  and  stained  red  by  the  regimental  undertaker, 
and  supplied  with  a  pair  of  sheets  from  the  hospital,  was 
placed  in  an  ambulance  which  was  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
mules  driven  by  Dandy,  followed  by  Longman,  Mike  and 
the  hound,  and  dispatched  to  receive  and  bring  in  the  body 
of  Gentleman  Geff. 

Judy,  from  her  seat  on  the  porch  of  the  colonel's  quar- 
ters, saw  the  procession  pass  through  the  gate. 

She  dropped  her  work  and  took  up  her  rosary  and  began 
to  say  aves  and  paters  for  the  repose  of  the  dead  man's 
soul. 

She  was  still  engaged  in  this  devout  task  when  Mrs. 
Moseley  came  out  and  joined  her. 

Then  she  put  away  her  beads  and  resumed  her  work. 

It  was  late  in  the  warm  afternoon  when  the  strange 
funeral  procession  re-entered  the  fort  gates. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  299 

The  ambulance  was  driven  directly  to  the  front  of  the 
little  fort  chapel. 

There  it  was  drawn  up.  The  coffin  was  taken  out  and 
laid  on  the  bier,  which  was  borne  by  four  soldiers,  with 
crape  on  their  arms,  into  the  chapel  and  laid  before  the 
little  altar. 

The  coffin  was  closed.  The  body,  or  what  was  left  of  it, 
had  been  rolled  in  the  two  sheets,  laid  in  the  coffin  and  the 
lid  had  been  screwed  down. 

The  regimental  chaplain  was  in  his  place,  and  as  soon  as 
the  few  spectators  had  taken  their  seats  he  commenced  the 
funeral  service  according  to  the  ritual  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church. 

As  soon  as  these  rites  were  concluded  the  coffin  was  again 
lifted,  placed  on  the  bier  and  borne  out  of  the  chapel 
through  the  gates  of  the  fort  and  to  the  little  military 
cemetery,  where  a  grave  had  been  dug  to  receive  it. 

A  few  days  later  a  plain  oaken  slab  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  grave,  with  the  following  inscription : 

To  the  memory  of 

GEOFFREY  DELAMERE, 

Who  Died  April  3,  18—. 

And  no  one  had  the  least  doubt  that  the  inscription,  so 
far  as  it  went,  was  right. 

Very  slow  was  the  recovery  of  young  Randolph  Hay. 

Michael  Man  and  Andrew  Quin  went  back  to  Grizzly. 

Judy,  under  the  protection  of  the  colonel's  wife,  re- 
mained at  the  fort,  but  for  many  days  she  was  not  allowed 
to  see  Ran. 

Mrs.  Moseley  grew  very  fond  of  the  young  girl,  who  made 
herself  extremely  useful  to  the  overtaxed  mother. 

Judy,  encouraged  by  Mrs.  Moseley,  was  patient  and  hope- 
ful until  the  day  came  when  she  was  permitted  to  revisit 
her  betrothed. 

The  meeting  between  them  was  cheerful  and  affectionate, 
but  self-controlled  on  both  sides  by  reason  of  the  presence 
and  the  orders  of  the  surgeon. 

After  this  Judy  was  allowed  to  visit  him  every  day. 

But  his  restoration  was  more  protracted  than  anyone 
could  have  foreseen. 


300  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

It  was  weeks  before  he  was  able  to  sit  up  in  a  resting- 
chair  and  engage  in  any  lengthened  conversation. 

And  then  Mrs.  Aloseley  began  to  grow  anxious  and  im- 
patient. 

"  This  inheritance  ought  not  to  be  neglected,"  she  urged, 
speaking  to  her  husband.  "If  he  is  not  capable  of  looking 
after  it,  some  one  else  should  do  it  in  his  interests.  You, 
colonel,  ought  to  take  some  steps." 

"But,  my  dear  love,  no  steps  can  be  taken  without  him. 
Even  if  I  were  to  write  to  the  lawyer  who  advertised  for 
the  heir — and  whose  name  and  address  unfortunately  I  do 
not  know — and  tell  him  that  the  heir  was  in  my  fort,  and 
his  name  was  Kandolph  Hay,  what  proof  could  I  send  with 
the  letter?  The  attested  copies  of  the  records  of  his  par- 
ents' marriage  and  his  own  birth  and  baptism  are  lost,  and 
as  I  have  never  seen  these  copies,  I  know  no  more  where  to 
find  the  originals  than  where  to  look  for  the  philosophers 
stone — do  you?" 

"No,  I  don't ;  neither  does  Judy ;  but  I  do  know  that  this 
young  man  is  the  son  of  Prof.  Cuthbert  Hay  and  his  wife." 

"You  may  know  all  this  perfectly  well,  but  you  have  no 
legal  proof  of  it  without  the  certificates  of  marriage,  birth 
and  baptism;  and  you  don't  know  where  to  find  these 
records  any  more  than  I  or  anyone  else  here  does." 

"Except  young  Hay  himself,  and  he  is  too  weak  to  be 
troubled  with  the  business.  And,  in  the  meantime,  some 
impostor  may  step  in  and  deprive  him  of  his  inheritance." 

"Oh,  not  likely.  And,  fortunately,  as  the  estate  consists 
mostly  of  entailed  lands  and  houses,  it  cannot  take  wings 
and  fly  away." 

"Still,  I  think  something  ought  to  be  done,  and  done 
quickly,"  persisted  the  lady. 

"When  the  young  man  is  well  enough  to  enter  upon  an 
exciting  subject  of  conversation,  he  may  give  us  data  upon 
which  to  act,"  concluded  the  colonel. 

With  this  the  lady  had  to  be  satisfied.  Yet  she  besieged 
the  surgeon  every  day  as  to  when  it  would  be  safe  to  talk  to 
Ban  Hay  about  his  inheritance. 

And  every  day  the  surgeon  said : 
,     "Not  yet." 

One  clay  he  volunteered  to  add : 
I     "The  young  fellow  shows  not  the  slightest  interest  in 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  301 

anything  except  the  presence  of  his  sweetheart.  We  must 
be  patient  with  him.  It  is  no  trifle  for  a  man  to  have  had 
his  skull  fractured  and  his  spine  grazed." 

At  length,  however,  the  day  came  when  Ran  himself 
broached  the  subject.  It  was  to  Judy  that  he  spoke. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  as  she  sat  beside  his  easy-chair,  in 
the  convalescent  ward  of  the  hospital,  on  one  fine  summer 
noon,  "I  have  been  very  near  'that  bourne  whence  no  trav- 
eler returns,'  and  many  earthly  interests  have  faded  from 
my  thoughts,  and  almost  from  my  memory ;  certainly  from 
my  anxious  care,  but  not  you,  Judy ;  not  you,  dear,  faithful 
girl !  Ill  or  well,  living  or  dying,  sane  or  crazy,  you  have 
always  been  in  my  mind  and  in  my  heart." 

"Sure,  and  I  do  know  it,  Ran." 

"How  brave  and  true  and  good  you  have  been,  Judy, 
through  all  this  dark  time." 

"Oh,  sure,  Ran,  it  was  the  only  comfort  I  had  in  the 
wurrld  to  be  near  ye  whin  ye  naded  me." 

"Dear  Judy!  And  how  courageous  you  were  to  come 
alone  through  that  perilous  wilderness,  where  poor  Gentle- 
man Gen*  was  murdered,  and  where  I  was  robbed  of  all  my 
gold  and  papers  and  left  for  dead !  What  might  not  have 
happened  to  you,  dear?" 

"  Nothink.  I  had  your  dog  to  purtect  me ;  and  he  did  it, 
too.  Ye  should  have  seen  him  bristle  up  and  defy  the  whole 
pack  av  wolves,  which,  how-and-ever,  did  pass  by  an- 
ither  way;  for  it  was  not  me  they  was  after,  be  the  same 
token,  but  just  the  blude  av  poor  Gintilmin  Geff.  And  ye 
should  jiet  have  seen  him  fly  at  Misther  Longman  and 
throttle  him  I  Why,  he  would  have  ate  that  giant  alive  af 
I  hadn't  called  him  off.  Oh,  Tip  took  care  av  me,  so  he 
did." 

"Bless  that  dog!  I  shall  cherish  him  more  than  ever," 
said  Ran.  "But,  Judy  dear,  it  strikes  me  that  I  ought  to 
be  getting  well  and  looking  after  our  great  inheritance; 
else,  you  know,  James  Jordan  Hay,  my  father's  younger 
brother,  or  his  heirs,  will  be  turning  up  and  taking  posses- 
sion; and  though,  being  the  son  of  the  elder  brother,  I 
might  turn  'em  out,  yet  it  would  cost  time  and  money  to 
eject  them,  for  possession,  you  know,  is  nine  points  of  the 
law.  I  think  I  must  make  haste  and  get  well,  Judy,  for 
your  sake  as  well  as  for  mine." 


302  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Yis,  Ran,  dear.  And  the  docther  and  the  colonel  and 
the  lady  is  all  so  anxious  for  ye  to  do  that  same.  And  git 
all  the  docterments  and  things  from  the  courts  and  the 
churches  and  the  saxtons  to  prove  that  yoursilf  is  yoursilf, 
and  nixt  av  kin  to  that  same  great  istate." 

"  The  lady  ?    Do  you  mean " 

"Misthress  Colonel  Moseley,  to  be  sure!" 

"How  did  she  know  anything  about  the  estate,  Judy, 
dear,  when  all  the  papers  had  been  stolen  from  my  pocket 
the  night  I  was  left  for  dead?" 

"<0ch,  sure  wouldn't  meself  be  bragging  about  ye !  Sure 
I  towld  her  all  I  knowed;  and  it's  aiger  she  is  to  have  ye 
git  well,  and  go  on  to  'Frisco,  to  attind  to  yer  bisniss." 

"Perhaps  I  am  staying  too  long  at  the  fort,  giving  too 
much  trouble,"  said  poor  Ran,  very  gravely. 

"Och!  no,  no,  no!"  cried  Judy,  earnestly.  "Sure  it's 
a  great  divarsion  ye  have  been  to  thim  all !  Och,  no !  I 
didn't  mane  divarsion  at  all,  at  all.  I  mane  intherest !  If  s 
a  great  intherest  ye  have  been  in  the  lonesome  fort — and 
oh,  Lord,  how  lonesome  it  is.  And  the  care  av  ye  has  been 
an  amuse — I  mane  an  ockipation  like — and  thrue  as  ye 
live,  Ran,  they  do  love  ye  like  a  brither.  Indade,  and  that 
they  do!" 

"They  have  all  been  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Ran,  gravely. 

"And  ye  will  take  counsel  with  the  docther,  and  the 
colonel,  and  the  good  lady,  as  to  the  manes  to  git  your 
rights." 

"Yes,  Judy." 

"Ye  must  know  I  have  heard  the  colonel  and  the  lady 
often  talking  together  about  you  and  your  intherests.  And 
I  mind  they  agreed  that  it  wasn't  necessary  for  you  to  go 
to  '"Frisco  yourself  in  person,  to  git  the  doctermints ;  but  ye 
could  sind  a  missengir  wid  a  letther  to  the  praist  or  the 
sextant  and  git  'em  jist  as  well." 

"Yes,  but  I  would  rather  go  in  person;  and  though  the 
red  devils  have  robbed  me  of  every  cent  I  had  about  me,  as 
well  as  of  my  papers,  yet  I  have  some  money  in  the  Miners' 
Savings  Bank,  upon  which  I  can  draw,"  said  Ran,  re- 
flectively. 

"And  will  ye  talk  it  all  over  wid  the  good  lady  and  gen- 
tleman, and  be  guided  by  their  exparience?"  inquired  the 
girl. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  303 

"Yes,  Judy,  I  will  do  anything  you  wish,"  earnestly  re- 
plied Ran. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

RAN  RECOVERS  HIS  FACULTIES 

WHEN  Judy  went  back  to  the  colonel's  quarters,  that  day 
on  which  Ran  had  for  the  first  time  broached  the  subject  of 
nis  neglected  business,  she  hastened  into  Mrs.  Moseley's  sit- 
ting-room, and  joyously  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  the  saints  be  praised,  me  bhoy  has  begun  to 
talk  business,  and  it's  sthrong  and  clear  his  head  is  getting, 
sure  enough." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  Judy.  Sit  down,  child,  you 
are  out  of  breath,"  replied  the  lady. 

Judy  dropped  on  the  nearest  seat  and  fanned  herself 
with  her  hat. 

Mrs.  Moseley,  seated  as  usual  in  her  little  sewing  chair 
by  a  workstand  piled  with  needlework,  stitched  on  for  a 
while  in  silence,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  incite  the  breathless 
girl  to  further  speech. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  said  to  the  puzzled  creature,  who 
could  not  understand  her  silence : 

"Now  that  you  have  ceased  panting,  you  may  tell  me  all 
about  it,  child." 

"He  talked  of  his  great  fortin,  ma'am,  and  it  should  be 
luked  afther  at  wanst,  so  he  did.  And  he  was  for  going  off 
to  'Frisco  to  get  more  copies  out'n  the  records — so  he  was ; 
for  he  said  if  he  didn't,  some  younger  brother's  eon  might 
git  the  big  isteet,  and  jt  would  then  cost  money — a  dale  av 
money  and  no  ind  of  time,  before  he  could  git  his  rights 
ag'in." 

^  "Did  he  talk  so  practically  as  that?    Then  I  think  he 
will  soon  be  ready  for  business." 

"And  will  ye  sind  his  honor  the  colonel  till  him,  ma'am, 
to  advise  with  him  what  to  do  ?"  eagerly  demanded  Judy. 

"After  a  while,  my  girl.  I  think  your  friend  has  had 
excitement  enough  for  one  day,"  smilingly  replied  the  lady. 

"To-morrow,  thin  ?" 

"To-morrow  ? — yes." 

The  entrance  of  the  colonel  interrupted  the  tete-a-tete. 


304.  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

He  was  told  of  Ran's  improved  condition  and  of  his 
desire  to  go  to  San  Francisco  to  collect  evidence  for  the 
establishment  of  his  claim  to  the  great  Hay  estate. 

"That  is  a  very  good  sign,"  replied  the  colonel.  "And 
just  as  soon  as  Hill  pronounces  him  sufficiently  convales- 
cent to  undertake  the  journey  I  will  provide  him  with  a 
comfortable  ambulance  and  a  safe  escort  through  the  forest, 
for  we  don't  want  any  more  broken  heads  brought  home  to 
us.  In  this  way  he  can  travel  securely  to  Santa  Agnetta, 
where  he  can  take  the  regular  line  of  stages  to  the  railway 
junction  at  Kio  Bello,  and  thence  travel  in  civilized  style  to 
San  Francisco." 

"And  will  you  see  the  young  man  to-morrow  and  talk 
this  matter  over  with  him?"  inquired  Mrs.  Moseley,  while 
Judy  listened  eagerly  with  open  mouth,  and  eyes  turning 
anxiously  from  one  speaker  to  the  other. 

"Certainly,  with  much  gratification;  and  shall  call  Hill 
into  our  counsel,"  said  the  colonel,  smiling  at  the  eager  girl. 

The  announcement  of  dinner  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion, and  they  filed  into  the  dining-room,  where  they  found 
all  the  dozen  hungry  girls  and  boys  waiting.  And,  with  the 
three  grown  people  who  entered  last,  fifteen  souls  sat  down 
to  table. 

"There  cannot  be  too  many,"  the  father  was  accustomed 
to  say  to  anyone  who  made  any  remark  on  the  number  of 
his  children. 

"If  only  we  can  bring  them  all  up,  so  as  at  the  last  day  to 
be  able  to  say,  'Here,  Lord,  are  we  and  the  jewels  Thou  hast 
intrusted  to  us,'  "  the  mothed  would  add. 

Not  for  the  earth  only,  but  for  heaven,  their  children 
were  borne  and  trained. 

The  next  morning,  as  Randolph  Hay  was  reported  still 
improving  and  quite  capable  of  attending  to  business,  Col. 
Moseley  kept  his  promise,  and,  in  company  with  Dr.  Hill, 
went  to  the  ward  where  Ran  sat  in  his  easy-chair  by  the 
open  window. 

This  was  only  the  third  time  the  colonel  had  ever  called 
to  see  the  patient,  and  the  first  time  he  had  come  since  the 
boy's  convalescence. 

"I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you  getting  on  so  well,  Mr. 
Hay,"  he  said,  cordially,  as  he  took  a  seat  near  Ran. 

"And  I  am  very  glad  at  last  to  be  able  to  thank  you 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  305 

sincerely  and  earnestly,  colonel,  for  the  great  kindness- 
shown  me  by  yourself  and  family  and  your  officers,"  said 
the  young  man,  rising  and  bowing. 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  have  nothing  to  thank  us  for.. 
We  have  simply  done  our  duty.  How  do  you  feel  this  morn- 
ing ?  As  well  as  you  look  ?" 

"Better,  thank  you,  colonel.  I  cannot  look  very  well  with 
my  hair  dressed  in  the  convict  style/'  laughed  Ean,  with 
some  of  his  old  humor  returning. 

"It  is  clipped  rather  close  to  your  head,"  lightly  replied 
the  colonel. 

"It  was  shaved,"  put  in  Dr.  Hill. 

"Yes,"  continued  Ean,  in  rueful  humor,  "fate  not  only 
robbed  me  of  my  money,  my  papers,  my  pipe,  and  my  dear 
comrade,  Gentleman  Geff,  but  took  the  very  hair  off  my 
head !" 

"But  it  left  your  life,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Yes,  thank  the  Lord,"  replied  Ran,  reverently  raising 
the  skull  cap  from  his  crown  and  bowing. 

"And  your  peerless  sweatheart,"  added  the  colonel. 

"The  Lord  bless  her !"  exclaimed  Ran. 

"You  have  had  a  hard  bout  of  it,  young  man.  And  a 
very  narrow  escape.  Skulls  are  not  cracked  every  time  with 
impunity." 

"No,  indeed,  colonel.  It  has  left  a  blank  in  my  con- 
sciousness that  can  never  be  filled  up  this  side  heaven.  I 
have  no  memory  of  being  struck.  The  last  I  remembered 
at  the  beginning  of  the  blank  was  singing  a  song  of 
Moore's.  The  next  I  remembered  at  the  end  of  that  blank 
was  the  refrain  of  that  same  song,  and  then  found  myself, 
not  singing  at  night  in  the  woods,  where  I  thought  I  was, 
but  lying  in  bed  in  a  strange  place,  in  broad  daylight. 
Those  days  were  blotted  out  of  my  life.  I  wonder  where 
my  spirit  was  all  that  time?  Or  if  I  shall  find  out  where  it 
was  when  I  get  to  the  spirit  world  ?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  colonel,  "but  'one  world  at  a  time,' 
as  some  one  has  wisely  said  or  written.  We  have  now  to 
deal  with  practical  matters  on  this  earth.  Do  you  feel  equal 
to  entering  upon  the  discussion  of  your  business  ?" 

"Quite  equal,  colonel,"  said  Ran. 

"What  is  your  opinion,  Dr.  Hill  ?' 

"He  is  able  to  do  it,  sir." 


306  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Very  well.  Then,  my  young  friend,  will  you  tell  me  the 
.grounds  upon  which  your  claim  to  the  great  estate  rests?'' 
said  the  colonel,  taking  pencil  and  tablets  from  his  pocket 
and  preparing  to  make  notes. 

"Certainly,  colonel,  if  an  uninteresting  family  history 
will  not  bore  you."  said  Ean. 

And  then  he  related,  at  some  length,  the  history  of  the 
Hays,  of  Haymore,  as  it  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 

"Your  claim  seems  as  clear  as  possible,  and  will  surely  be 
legally  recognized  if  you  can  prove  the  facts  stated,"  said 
the  colonel,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  narrative. 

"I  think  they  are  very  easy  of  proof.  The  records  of  my 
fathers  and  my  mother's  marriage;  of  my  own  birth  and 
baptism,  and  of  the  death  of  my  dear  parents,  are  to  be 
found  on  the  parish  register  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria, 
in  San  Francisco.  The  graves  of  my  father  and  mother  lie 
side  by  side  with  that  of  my  grandfather,  in  the  Rosa  lot  in 
the  cemetery  of  Lone  Mountain.  I  must  say  in  explanation 
of  this  last  statement,  that  although  the  deaths  of  my 
parents  were  far  apart  in  time  and  place,  it  was  I  who 
brought  them  together  in  burial;  for  I  conveyed  my  dear 
father's  remains  from  the  Morning  Star  Mines,  where  he 
died,  all  the  long  way  to  the  church  of  Santa  Maria,  from 
which  he  was  borne  to  the  Lone  Mountain  Cemetery  and 
laid  beside  his  wife."' 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Hay,  all  this  seems  very  plain  sailing  to 
me,  who  am,  however,  no  judge,  not  even  a  lawyer.  Now 
then,  as  you  are  not  yet  able  to  write  an  important  letter, 
and  as  it  is  necessary  to  act  with  as  little  delay  as  possible, 
I  must  ask  you  to  give  me  the  name  and  address  of  that 
firm  of  attorneys  who  advertised  for  the  heir  of  Haymore," 
said  the  colonel,  turning  a  blank  page  of  his  tablets. 

"  How  very  kind  you  are  to  a  poor  devil,  sir !  I  can  never 
express  how  much  I  thank  you !"  fervently  exclaimed  Ran. 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,  my  good  fellow !  Give  me  the  ad- 
dress of  these  attorneys.  I  must  write  to  them  to-day  and 
give  a  brief  of  your  case/ 

"The  firm  is  Walling  &  Walling,  Judiciary  Buildings, 
111  Spark  Street,  New  York  City,"  replied  Ran. 

"Why,  I  know  those  fellows,  or,  at  least,  I  know  of  them. 
A  schoolmate  of  my  wife  married  one  of  the  firm.  They 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HEli?  -  307 

have  a  high  standing  in  their  profession,"  said  the  colonel, 
and  he  took  down  the  address  and  rose  to  leave  the  room, 

"Doctor !"  he  said,  on  leaving,  "how  soon  may  this  young 
man  be  expected  to  set  out  and  seek  his  fortune?" 

"Within  a  week  from  to-day,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"That  is  a  trifle  vague.    How  much  within  a  week?" 

"  It  may  be  five,  six  or  seven  days,  depending  on  his  con- 
dition. I  should  say  he  would  certainly  be  quite  strong 
enough  to  set  out  on  the  eighth  day  from  this,  if  not 
sooner." 

"  All  right !  Good-morning,  Hill !  Good-morning, 
Hay !"  said  the  colonel,  leaving  the  room. 

He  went  straight  to  the  adjutant's  office,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Messrs.  Walling  &  Walling,  giving  them  a 
brief  history  of  Randolph  Hay's  pedigree,  and  proofs  by 
which  he,  the  heir,  felt  sure  of  establishing  his  claim  to  the 
Haymore  estate,  and  ended  by  informing  them  that  the 
young  gentleman  in  question  was  then  at  the  fort,  and 
would  travel  northward  to  wait  on  them  as  soon  as  his 
recovery  from  a  severe  head  wound  would  enable  him  to  do 
so,  which  the  writer  thought  would  be  in  eight  or  ten  days. 

Having  signed,  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  the  col- 
onl  put  it  in  the  adjutant's  mail  bag,  which  was  to  leave 
the  fort  at  noon,  sharp,  for  Santa  Agnetta,  which  contained 
the  post-office  on  the  United  States  mail  route. 

"That's  off  my  mind!"  said  the  veteran,  as  he  left  the 
adjutant's  quarters. 

The  colonel  had  a  very  fine  office  of  his  own;  but  as  it 
was  under  the  same  roof  with  his  wife  and  numerous  chil- 
dren, and  not  unfrequently  invaded  by  the  former,  or  one 
or  more  of  the  latter,  he  chose  to  do  most  of  his  writing  in 
the  office  of  the  young  adjutant,  who,  having  no  relatives, 
lived  alone,  and  was  very  fond  of  his  colonel  as  well  as  of 
his  colonel's  fifteen-year-old  daughter,  Betty. 

Randolph  Hay  grew  stronger  every  day.  It  was  on 
Thursday  that  the  interview  with  the  colonel  and  the  sur- 
geon had  taken  place.  After  that  he  seemed  determined 
to  get  well  fast. 

On  Friday  he  came  out  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  front  of 
the  hospital,  and  felt  strengthened  by  the  change,  and  the 
fresh  air  and  sunshine. 

.On  Saturday  he  took  a  walk  with  Judy  in  the  grounds 


808  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

behind  the  hospital,  and  felt  ever  so  much  better  for  the 
exercise. 

On  Sunday  he  attended  divine  worship  in  the  chapel,  and 
sat  through  the  whole  service  without  fatigue,  and  he  felt 
incalculably  refreshed  in  soul  as  well  as  in  body  for  the 
privilege. 

On  Monday  morning  he  received  an  invitation  to  dine 
with  the  Moseley  family  at  the  colonel's  quarters.  He  was 
delighted  with  this  attention,  and  he  accepted  it,  although 
he  had  again  to  be  indebted  to  Jim  Moseley,  the  colonel's 
seventeen-year-old  son,  who  had  loaned  him  a  suit  to  wear 
to  church,  which  fitted  him  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  him, 
for  though  Ean  was  twenty-two  years  old,  he  was  but  a 
"little  nigger,''  as  he  called  himself,  while  everyone  else 
called  him  a  very  handsome  little  fellow,  with  his  rich  dark 
complexion,  large  black  eyes,  and  curling  black  hair. 

So  Ean  dined  at  the  colonel's  table,  to  the  great  delight 
of  Judy,  who  admired  him  in  his  store  clothes  more  than 
she  had  ever  admired  him  before.  He  offended  in  no  point 
of  table  etiquette;  for  though  his  life  had  lately  been  a 
rough  one  among  the  mines,  yet  he  had  been  born  and  bred 
a  gentleman,  and  easily  dropped  his  camp  manners,  and 
resumed  those  of  the  drawing-room. 

Judy  was  charmed !  She  scarcely  knew  Ran !  His  long 
illness  had  prepared  him  for  this  change;  it  had  bleached 
his  complexion,  refined  his  features,  and  softened  and 
whitened  his  hands;  and  in  a  well-fitting,  black  cloth  suit, 
with  snow-white  linen  bosom,  collar  and  cuffs,  he  really 
looked  so  elegant  that  all  were  pleased  with  him,  and  Judy 
enchanted. 

"Ah,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  stole  a  glance  at  him, 
"it's  not  Ran  at  all,  at  all,  that  nades  the  scrubbing  and 
scouring  and  gineral  polishing  up  av  a  schule  to  make  a 
gintleman  av  him !  He  is  a  gintleman  alriddy  made,  if  ye 
plaise!  'Born  so,  sir,'  as  the  dumb  beggar  said  to  the 
banker.  Och,  but  it's  misilf  that  nades  all  that  polishing ! 
Worra !  worra !  they'll  have  to  polish  the  skin  aff  the  body 
av  me  and  the  body  aff  the  sowl  av  me,  before  they  could 
make  me  a  leddy  fit  to  be  Misthress  Randolph  Hay  av  Hay- 
more!  If  I  didn't  hev  sech  faith  in  himself  I  should  be 
fearing  as  some  fine,  edicated,  beautiful  leddy  would  take 
Hie  Ran  away  from  me  1  But  no !  that  will  never  be !  Ran 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  309 

is  Ran !  And  nobody  could  say  no  betther  av  him,  and  no 
betther  of  no  human  creetur  than  that  1"  concluded  Judy. 

She  could  not  talk  much  at  dinner.  She  felt  shyer  than 
she  had  ever  felt  before.  She  only  answered  when  spoken 
to,  and  always  in  monosyllables.  "Yes,  ma'am. "  "No, 
sir,"  or  the  reverse  of  these,  as  the  case  might  be. 

The  colonel  turned  the  conversation  on  mining,  a  subject 
on  which  Ran  could  talk  fluently  and  intelligently,  and 
Judy  listened  and  learned  more  of  mining  than  she  had 
ever  even  imagined  to  be  in  the  subject. 

After  dinner,  the  whole  party  went  out  on  the  broad 
front  piazza  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  summer  afternoon. 

While  still  talking  she  saw  the  mail  wagon,  which  had 
been  dispatched  to  Santa  Agnetta,  early  that  morning, 
slowly  entering  the  fort  gates. 

The  mail  came  only  twice  a  week,  on  Mondays  and 
Thursdays.  And  these  two  were  the  most  exciting  days  of 
the  seven,  for  they  brought  not  only  letters  from  Eastern 
friends,  but  they  brought  newspapers  with  intelligence 
from  all  parts  of  the  civilized  world.  The  wagon  slowly 
approached  and  drew  up  at  the  adjutant's  quarters.  An 
orderly  came  out  and  took  the  mail  bag  and  carried  it  on 
to  the  office,  and  then  the  wagon  drove  off  again  out  of 
sight. 

Presently  a  soldier  came  out  of  the  adjutant's  office,  with 
a  large  parcel  of  newspapers  and  letters  in  his  hands. 

He  saluted  and  laid  the  parcels  on  a  little  stand  beside 
the  colonel. 

There  was  an  immediate  gathering  and  buzzing  around 
the  stand.  All  the  elder  children  had  hurried  up  to  get 
hold  of  the  illustrated  papers  and  magazines,  which  their 
father  unrolled  and  distributed  to  them. 

Mrs.  Moseley  was  busy  with  the  little  pile  of  letters. 

Judy  and  Ran  looked  on,  until  the  colonel,  having  dis- 
charged the  flock  of  children  laden  with  "picture  papers," 
turned  to  offer  some  of  the  newspapers  to  them.  All  were 
soon  silently  engaged  in  reading,  when  Mrs.  Moseley.  who 
had  an  open  letter  before  her,  over  which  she  alternately 
smild  and  frowned,  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Good  gracious  I" 

"What  is  the  matter?  Who  is  that  from?"  inquired  the 
colonel,  looking  up  from  Ms  paper. 


310  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Oh,  it  is  from  Augusta." 

"One  of  your  numerous  old  schoolmates?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  Augusta  Lampson,  you  know.  She 
married  Samuel  Walling.  She  lives  in  a  fashionable  quar- 
ter of  New  York  now,  and  is  always  in  a  whirl  of  gayety. 
Her  letter — an  interminable  one — is  full  of  the  last  society 
news.  And " 

The  lady  paused  suddenly  in  the  full  flow  of  her  dis- 
course and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  letter  in  her  hand,  as 
if  she  were  reading  to  reassure  herself  as  to  some  of  its 
contents. 

"Well?"  said  the  colonel,  who  had  not  taken  his  eyes 
off  her. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  replied  his  wife;  and  then  turning  to  Ran, 
she  inquired : 

"My  young  friend,  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  are 
Randolph  Hay?" 

Ran  looked  up  suddenly  from  behind  the  paper  he  was 
reading  with  Judy,  who  sat  close  beside  him,  and  said,  in 
a  bewildered  sort  of  way : 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,  madam " 

"I  asked  you  if  you  are  sure  that  you  are  Randolph 
Hay,"  repeated  the  lady,  without  the  least  appearance  of 
jesting,  but  very  gravely  and  anxiously. 

Ran  was  too  much  astonished  at  the  question  to  reply 
promptly;  but  as  Mrs.  Moseley  continued  to  look  for  an 
answer,  he  said,  at  length : 

"Why,  I  am  as  sure  of  it  as  I  can  be  of  anything  in  life. 
May  I  inquire  why  you  ask?" 

"Let  me  see  your  left  hand,  Mr.  Hay,"  she  said,  without 
replying  to  his  query.  Ran  held  out  his  well-shaped  hand, 
which  had  grown  thin  and  white  during  his  long  confine- 
ment. The  lady  took  it,  looked  at  it  and  examined  a  slight 
malformation,  which  could  not  be  detected  if  the  owner  of 
the  hand  chose  to  conceal  it. 

"Oh!"  laughed  Ran,  "you  are  looking  at  my  germ  of  a 
little  finger.  It  is  a  family  peculiarity." 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is,"  said  the  lady.  "And  I  know  that 
you  are  Randolph  Hay.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have 
questioned  the  fact."  ' 

"But  who  does  question  the  fact?  Dolly,  dear,  your 
behavior  is  strange,  not  to  say  mysterious,"  said  the  colonel, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  3U 

who  had  not  ceased  to  regard  her  with  interest  and 
curiosity. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  Since  this  young  gentleman  is 
surely  Mr.  Randolph  Hay,  of  Haymore,  there  is  certainly 
an  impostor  in  New  York  who  is  flourishing  around  in  the 
borrowed  plumes  of  that  same  name  I"  said  Mrs.  Moseley. 

"What?"  demanded  the  colonel,  bending  his  iron-gray 
brows. 

"Sure  and  I  thought  so!"  exclaimed  Judy.  "A  foine 
isteet  the  loike  av  that  couldn't  be  hawked  around  in  the 
newspapers  long  without  some  thaif  av  the  wurruld  claim- 
ing av  it !" 

"I  think  I  understand.  It  is  what  I  also  feared.  If 
there  is  a  Randolph  Hay  in  New  York  claiming  the  heir- 
ship  of  Haymore,  he  must  be  a  son  of  James  Jordan  Hay, 
my  father's  younger  brother ;  and  he  is,  of  course,  ignorant 
of  my  existence  and  prior  right,  and,  of  course,  entirely 
innocent  of  imposture,  Judy,  dear,"  said  Ran,  addressing 
the  first  part  of  his  conversation  to  the  lady  and  gentleman 
and  the  last  clause  to  his  sweetheart. 

Ran  was  singularly  free  from  suspicions  of  evil. 

"I  fancy  that  must  be  the  case,  Dolly.  For  you  must 
remember  the  attorney's  advertisement,  in  ignorance  of  the 
existence  of  our  young  friend  here,  really  called  for  James 
Jordan  Hay,  or  his  heirs.  This  New  York  man  must, 
therefore,  be  the  son  of  the  latter.  Only  the  identity  of  the 
name  is  a  strange  coincidence.  That  is  the  only  suspicious 
part  of  the  whole  affair.  Strange  that  there  should  be 
another  Randolph  Hay,"  said  the  colonel,  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  if  you  will  excuse  me.  Randolph  is  a 
very  old  family  name  and  frequently  recurs  in  our  pedi- 
gree," Ran  explained. 

"Ah!  that  changes  the  aspect  of  the  affair,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"But  don't  you  want  to  hear  all  about  it  from  Mrs.  Wall- 
ing's  letter  ?"  rather  eagerly  inquired  Mrs.  Moseley. 

"Yes !  yes !"  cried  the  colonel. 

"If  you  please,  madam,"  added  Ran. 

"  Sure  I  knows  he  is  an  imposture,  all  the  same,  how  and 
ivir !"  muttered  Judy,  sotto  voce. 

"Now  stop  talking  and  listen,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Moseley. 


312  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"After  writing  a  lot  of  society  gossip,  Augusta  Walling  goes 
on  in  this  way. 

"  'But  all  that  I  have  told  you  is  nothing  to  the  coming 
event,,  which  is  the  talk  of  all  the  boudoirs  and  club  rooms 
of  the  city. 

"  'The  approaching  marriage  of  Eandolph  Hay,  Esquire, 
of  Haymore,  in  England,  and  Miss  Lamia  Hay  Leegh,  of 
some  other  place  in  England,  I  forget  what. 

"  'There  is  a  halo  of  romance  about  these  forthcoming 
nuptials,  that  caused  thorn  to  be  more  talked  about  than 
they  would  otherwise  have  been. 

"  'First  as  to  the  bridegroom-expectant,  Mr.  Randolph 
Hay.  He  was  found  by  advertisement  issued  from  my  hus- 
band's firm — Walling  &  Walling,  who  acted  under  the  in- 
struction of  their  London  correspondent,  Messrs.  . 

"  'Oh,  dear !  I  don't  mean  the  bridegroom  was  found  by 
advertisement,  but  the  heir  was. 

"  'You  must  know  that  Squire  Hay,  of  Haymore,  died 
intestate  a  few  months  ago.  That  did  not  matter  much,  as 
far  as  the  estate  was  concerned,  for  it  was  strictly  entailed. 
But  there  was  a  vast  personal  property,  which,  in  default 
of  a  will,  would,  of  course,  go  with  the  landed  estate.  So 
the  next  of  kin  was  called  for  by  advertisement,  and  ap- 
peared in  Walling  &  Walling's  office  in  the  person  of  this 
very  handsome  man,  Randolph  Hay.  He  had  every  docu- 
ment with  him  to  prove  his  lineal  descent  from  the  deceased 
squire,  and  after  full  investigation  his  claim  was  allowed. 

"  'He  was  a  perfect  stranger  in  New  York,  so  Sam 
brought  him  to  our  house  and  introduced  him  in  our  circle. 

"  'Among  other  houses  to  which  he  introduced  the 
stranger  was  that  of  Peter  Vansitart's,  the  banker's.  You 
know  who  the  Vansitarts  are,  of  course,  for  they  have  a 
wide  reputation  in  the  financial  world. 

"  'Well,  there  it  was  he  met  the  beautiful  woman  who  is 
to  be  his  bride.  It  was  a  case  of  mutual  love  at  first  sight,  I 
think ;  for  in  a  very  few  weeks  they  were  engaged.  He  had 
to  run  over  to  England  to  take  formal  possession  of  his 
estate,  or  to  transact  some  other  business  connected  with  it ; 
but  a  "run"  it  was  indeed,  for  he  was  back  again  within  a 
month,  in  time  to  join  his  bride-elect,  who  was  with  the 
Vansitarts  at  Newport. 

"  'And  now  as  to  the  bride-elect.    She  is  also  of  noble 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  313 

English  family,  being  the  daughter  of  the  late  Hon.  and 
R«v.  Archibald  Leegh,  of  Edge  Vicarage,  and  the  niece  of 
the  present  Baron  Leegh,  of  Edge  Castle — Hantz.  I  have 
got  the  place  at  last. 

"  'Through  reverses  of  fortune  and  great  independence  of 
mind,  she  turned  her  accomplishments  to  account  by  ac- 
cepting the  situation  of  governess  in  the  family  of  Mr. 
Peter  Vansitart,  where  indeed  she  is  treated  with  the  affec- 
tion of  a  beloved  daughter  and  the  consideration  of  an. 
esteemed  guest  at  the  same  time. 

"  'She  was  the  chief  attraction  at  all  their  parties  and 
receptions,  and  very  few,  I  think,  knew  her  real  position 
in  the  family.  You  see,  they  brought  her  with  them  from 
England,  and  people  supposed  her  to  be  a  distinguished 
visitor. 

"  'Well,  they  are  to  be  married  on  Thursday,  the  first  of 
October.  Mrs.  Vansitart  has  provided  a  magnificent  trous- 
seau for  the  bride,  and  the  presents  of  the  bridegroom,  al- 
ready on  exhibition  at  the  Vansitart  mansion,  are  superb. 

"  'Think  of  an  India  shawl  at  five  thousand  dollars  and  a 
point  lace  handkerchief  at  five  hundred !  I  don't  quite  be- 
lieve that  report  myself. 

"  'But  there !  I  have  bored  you  long  enough  with  this 
wedding.  Immediately  after  the  marriage  the  "happy 
pair"  are  to  sail  for  Europe.' 

"That  is  all;  now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Moseley. 

"I  think  they  will  feel  very  bad  when  the  rightful  heir 
arrives,"  said  the  colonel. 

"The  first  of  October!  I  could  barely  reach  New  York 
in  time  to  stop  the  marriage,"  mused  Ran.  "And  I  do 
suppose  they  would  pay  no  attention  to  a  letter  or  telegram, 
unaccompanied  by  proofs,"  he  added. 

"But  why  should  you  wish  to  prevent  the  marriage?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Moseley. 

"  Because  if  the  lady  and  gentleman  are  marrying  on  the 
basis  of  the  Hay  fortune  with  the  false  expectation  of 
living  at  Haymore,  it  would  be  kind  to  tell  them  the  truth 
in  time,"  said  Ran. 

"My  dear  young  fellow,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with 
their  marriage,  or  with  their  future  prospects  after  you 
shall  have  taken  possession  of  Haymore.  All  the  kindness 


314  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

you  can  show  them  will  be  to  refrain  from  compelling  your 
kinsman  to  refund  the  thousands  of  dollars  he  has  derived 
from  the  Haymore  estate  and  spent  in  extravagance/'  said 
Col.  Moseley. 

"I  should  certainly  provide  for  my  kinsman,  if  I  should 
discover  him  to  be  without  resources.  I  do  not  believe  in 
the  justice  of  giving  the  whole  of  the  patrimony  to  one 
heir." 

"That's  me  jewel  av  a  Ran!"  burst  in  Judy,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  There  isn't  a  silfish  vein  in  the  body  av  him ! 
But  Kan  IB  Kan !  an'  if  yer  was  to  use  up  all  the  dicshinary 
from  A  to  Izzard,  you  could  not  call  him  anything  betther 
nor  that!" 

"Oh,  Judy !  Judy !  would  you  make  me  out  'too  good  for 
this  world,'  and  so  lose  me  altogether?"  laughed  Ran. 

But  the  colonel  interrupted  this  chaffing  with  serious 
words. 

"It  appears  to  us,  Hay,  that  you  should  lose  no  time  in 
attending  to  this  business,"  he  said. 

"I  think  with  you,  colonel,  and  will  set  out  as  soon  as 
the  surgeon  will  give  me  leave.  I  am  under  his  orders,  and 
must  obey  them,  if  not  in  my  own  interests,  as  I  believe  it 
would  be,  at  least  in  gratitude  to  him." 

"If  you  continue  to  improve  you  may  set  out  on  Thurs- 
day— not  a  day  sooner,"  said  the  doctor. 

And  then,  as  the  chill  of  evening  was  coming  on,  the 
party  broke  up. 

Mrs.  Moseley  sent  all  her  children  indoors,  and  as  soon 
as  her  guests  took  leave  she  followed  them. 

Judy  lingered  until  she  watched  the  surgeon  and  his 
patient  out  of  sight,  and  then  she  joined  Mrs.  Moseley  and 
the  children  in  the  sitting-room. 

The  colonel  walked  off  to  the  adjutant's  office  to  smoke 
a  pipe  with  his  favorite. 

So  ended  the  Moseley  dinner  party. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

RAN  GOES  TO  SEEK  HIS  FORTUNE 

THE  next  morning  some  preliminary  preparations  to 
"speed  the  parting  guest"  were  put  in  progress. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  315 

A  "committee  of  ways  and  means"  was  formed,  consist- 
ing of  the  colonel  and  Mrs.  Moseley,  Dr.  Hill,  Ran  and 
Judy. 

When  several  other  matters  connected  with  the  journey 
had  been  discussed,  the  colonel,  in  a  frank  and  fatherly 
way,  without  the  least  shade  of  patronage,  in  tone  or  man- 
ner at  which  the  most  sensitive  nature  might  take  offense, 
said: 

"Now,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  require  funds  for  your  jour- 
ney to  San  Francisco,  and  as  you  have  been  robbed  of  every 
dollar  about  you,  you  must  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
being  your  banker  until  you  come  into  your  fortune,  or  at 
least  until  you  can  draw  upon  your  family  solicitors." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  dear  sir,"  fervently  exclaimed  Ran. 
"I  have  some  money  in  the  Miners'  Savings  Bank,  at 
'Frisco,  and  though  my  bank  book  is  gone — stolen  with  the 
rest  of  my  papers — yet  I  remember  exactly  the  amount.  It 
was  seven  hundred  and  ninety-nine  dollars — no  cents/'  he 
added,  humorously. 

"Well,  that  is  a  very  good  little  sum  to  start  with," 
smiled  the  colonel. 

"Yes;  but  it  might  as  well  be  in  Kamchatka,  for  any 
present  use  it  can  be  to  me  here,"  said  Ran,  with  a  grew- 
some  smile. 

"  Not  at  all ! — not  at  all !"  cheerfully  exclaimed  the  col- 
onel. "Do  you  draw  a  check  for  any  amount  you  may 
wish,  make  it  payable  to  my  order,  and  I  will  cash  it." 

"  Oh !  thanks,  more  than  I  can  express !"  earnestly  ex- 
claimed Ran ;  and  then  his  good  humor  rising  to  the  ascen- 
dant, he  added:  "But,  colonel,  how  do  you  know  that  it 
is  safe  to  trust  me?  Suppose  I  should  have  no  money  in 
that  bank,  and  should  go  off  with  yours  ?" 

For  the  first  time  the  colonel  looked  at  the  young  man 
rebukingly. 

"My  young  friend,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "gentlemen 
never  suppose  such  cases  in  regard  to  each  other." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  colonel.  That  robbery  and  at- 
tempted murder  in  the  wood  has  demoralized  me  to  some 
extent,"  said  Ran. 

"Not  at  all;  and  aside  from  the  rule  I  have  quoted,  Mr. 
Hay,  I  have  every  reason  to  place  implicit  confidence  in 
your  integrity.  It  should  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  tell 


316  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

you  this.  And  now  let  us  change  the  subject.  Draw  your 
check  at  once.  I  am  going  to  the  paymaster's  quarters." 

Mrs.  Moseley  brought  pen,  ink  and  paper,  and  placed 
them  on  a  little  table  near  the  young  man.  Ean  had  no 
form,  but  he  remembered  and  wrote  out  his  check  for  a 
very  modest  sum,  considering  it  was  to  buy  him  a  suit  of 
clothes,  shoes,  and  a  hat,  from  the  post-trader,  and  to  pay 
his  stage  and  railway  fare  to  the  city. 

He  handed  it  to  the  colonel. 

"Only  for  fifty  dollars !  Tut,  tut,  boy !  that  will  never 
do;  make  it  double  that,  at  least,"  said  the  latter,  when  he 
had  examined  the  paper.  "Come,  come;  don't  hesitate; 
obey  promptly." 

Ran  received  back  the  check,  tore  it  up,  and  wrote 
another  for  the  amount  recommended  by  the  colonel,  and 
handed  it  to  him. 

"  That's  better,"  said  the  old  soldier,  as  he  took  the  paper 
and  walked  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  the  surgeon. 

The  next  consideration  was  Judy.  What  should  be  done 
with  the  girl  after  the  departure  of  her  lover  ? 

Judy  had  not  once  thought  of  that  question;  but  Ran 
had  thought  of  little  else,  even  in  regard  to  his  fortune. 

As  soon  as  the  two  officers  had  left  the  parlor,  Ran  went 
and  sat  down  by  Judy,  took  her  hand,  and,  addressing  him- 
self to  Mrs.  Moseley,  said :  , 

"Madam,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  indiscreet,  but  I 
have  been  trying  to  persuade  this  little  girl  to  let  the  chap- 
lain marry  us  at  once,  that  she  may  go  East  with  me.  I 
cannot  bear  to  part  with  her.  Why  should  we  be  separated  ? 
Why  should  we  not  marry  and  go  away  together?  She 
could  go  to  school  afterward  if  she  should  wish,  as  I  shall 
go  to  college." 

"But  surely  that  plan  would  separate  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Moseley,  kindly  and  sympathetically. 

"But  not  with  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  continent 
between  us.  We  could  live  in  the  same  city;  Boston,  for 
instance.  I  could  enter  Harvard,  after  due  preparation, 
and  she  could  enter  some  private  school,  or  even  have  a 
private  governess.  We  could  see  each  other  frequently ;  and 
we  should  belong  to  each  other  and  feel  sure  of  each  other." 

"What  does  Judy  say?"  inquired  the  lady,  turning  to  the 
girl. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  317 

"  'July'  says  it  cannot  be  at  all,  at  all,  ma'am/'  said 
the  latter,  raising  tearful  eyes  to  the  face  of  her  benefac- 
tress. "If  I  thought  for  mesilf,  ma'am,  and  me  own  pleas- 
ure and  happiness,  I  would  do  it.  Yis,  this  moment.  But 
I  mustn't  think  of  mesilf,  ma'am.  I  must  think  av  Kan. 
It  would  not  be  for  Kan's  good,  ma'am." 

"But  why?"  inquired  Mrs.  Moseley,  more  for  the  pur- 
pose of  drawing  out  Judy's  reasons  than  from  any  disposi- 
tion to  differ  from  her. 

"I — I — don't  know  why,  ma'am;  but  I  feel  that  sure  it 
wouldn't  be  good  for  Ran  to  be  a  married  man  whin  he 
begins  his  collidge.  Because  ye  do  know>  ma'am,  that 
oollidges  is  for  bachilors,"  she  replied. 

"It  is  for  your  sake,  dear  girl,  as  well  as  for  my  own, 
that  I  wish  we  should  be  married  at  once.  If  we  should  be 
bound  to  each  other,  then  we  should  never  be  in  doubt  of 
each  other,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Oh,  Ran,  you  could  nivir  doubt  me!" 

"No,  my  dear  girl,  I  could  never  doubt  you." 

"And  do  ye  think  I  could  iver  doubt  you,  Ran?  Nivir! 
I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that.  But  I  want  ye  to  be  free  and 
aisy  when  ye  go  away,  Ran.  Yis.  I  want  ye  to  be  so  free, 
that  if  sich  a  thing  could  be  as  ye  should  change  yer  mind 
about  me,  ye  should  do  as  ye  plaise,"  said  Judy. 

But  as  she  said  this  her  eyes  overflowed  with  tears. 

Ran  took  her  hand,  and  again  tried  to  move  her  to  con- 
sent to  an  immediate  marriage;  but  all  in  vain.  Judy, 
when  she  had  once  made  up  her  mind  that  she  was  right, 
could  be  as  stubborn  as  a  mule,  or  more  so. 

After  a  while  the  colonel  came  in,  put  a  roll  of  green- 
backs in  Kan's  hand,  saying : 

"You  will  find  them  all  right,  my  boy,  and  can  have 
more  if  you  require  them." 

"I  thank  you  again,  colonel,  very,  very  much,"  replied 
Ran,  as  he  arose  to  take  leave. 

"Will  you  take  a  walk  with  me,  Judy?"  he  inquired, 
when  he  had  bid  good-evening  to  Col.  and  Mrs.  Moseley. 

"Yis,  sure,  Ran  !"  quickly  replied  the  girl;  and  she  seized 
her  straw  hat  that  lay  on  the  table  beside  her,  and  went 
with  him  out  into  the  grounds. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  Mrs.  Moseley  told  her  hus- 
band of  the  discussion  that  had  taken  place  during  his 


818  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

absence  from  the  room,  of  Ban's  wish  to  many  Judy  imme- 
diately and  take  her  with  him  to  the  East,  and  of  Judy's 
firm  refusal  to  comply  with  his  wish. 

"She  says  if  she  thought  only  of  her  own  happiness  that 
she  would  gladly  consent,  but  that  she  must  think  of  Ran"? 
good ;  and  she  knew  that  the  marriage  at  this  time  would 
not  be  for  his  good,  though  she  could*  not  tell  why — or 
words  to  the  same  effect." 

"And  the  girl  is  right,"  said  the  colonel;  "her  intuition 
leads  her  to  a  just  conclusion,  although  she  may  not  be  able 
to  give  her  reasons.  They  must  not  marry  now.  They  are 
too  young.  They  need  to  go  to  college  and  to  school,  and 
the  plan  he  proposes  is  perfectly  impracticable.  If  they 
should  marry  now,  good-by  to  school  and  college.  It  would 
not  be  human  nature  for  them,  having  their  perfect  free 
agency,  to  part  to  go  to  school  and  college  when  they  might 
live  together.  The  girl  is  right,  even  if  she  cannot"  'give  a 
reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  her/  " 

"What  is  to  be  done  with  her  in  the  meantime?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Moseley. 

"Keep  her  with  you  until  she  goes  to  school." 

"As  if  our  family  were  not  large  enough  already!"  ex- 
claimed the  lady,  with  a  bright  smile  that  modified  the 
meaning  of  her  words.  "But,  in  fact,  I  am  very  glad  to 
have  the  child,  and  it  was  kind  of  you  to  think  of  it,  Enos." 

Later  in  the  day,  when  Mrs.  Moseley  found  herself  alone 
with  Judy,  she  said: 

"You  have  been  a  very  bright  and  industrious  little  girl 
since  you  have  been  with  us,  Judy,  and  I  feel  so  much 
regret  at  the  very  thought  of  losing  you  that  I  must  really 
beg  you  to  stay  with  me  untfl  you  go  to  school  Will  you 
do  so?" 

"Is  it  to  stay  here  wid  yersilf,  ma'am,  vou  mane?" 

"Yes,  Judy." 

"Sure,  and  I  thank  ye,  ma'am.  Sure,  and  I  know  it  is 
not  out  av  the  use  I  could  be  till  ye,  ma'am,  but  out  av  ver 
kindness  ye  ask  me  to  stay.  And,  sure,  it  wad  jist  be  the 
plisure  av  my  life  to  stay  wid  ye.  It  would,  indade.  ma'am. 
And  it  will  be  the  grafe  av  me  sowl  to  lave  ye.  But,  sure, 
I  must  go,  ma'am,"  said  the  girl,  her  blue  eyes  filling  with 
tears,  which  she  quickly  wiped  away  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  319 

"But  why  should  you  leave  me  if  you  do  not  want  to  go?" 
kindly  inquired  the  lady. 

"Sure,  ma'am,  yerself  knows  that  duty  is  duty.    I  kem 
here,  warrund  by  a  dhrame,  to  look  afther  me  poor  Ran, 
and  I  stayed  here  till  he  got  on  his  feet  ag'in.    Sure  it  was 
me  duty  to  do  that.    Now  me  dear  Ran  is  well,  and  gwine 
to  sake  his  fortin,  which  is  alriddy  waiting  for  him.    And 
now  me  duty  is  done  here,  I  must  go." 
"But,  my  dear  girl,  where  will  you  go?" 
"Where  me  ither  duty  calls  me,  ma'am — to  me  brither, 
Mike." 

"To  Grizzly !    To  that  horrid  mining  camp  !" 
"It  isn't  horrid,  ma'am,  saving  your  prisince.    And  my 
brither  is  my  twin  brither,  and  we  was  all  in  all  ta  aich 
ither,  having  nayther  kith  nor  kin  in  the  wurruld  but  our 
two  silves.    And  now,  though  I  have  Ran,  he  has  nobody 
but  me — not  even  a  swateheart;  so  ye  see,  ma'am,  he  is 
lonesome  like,  and  I  must  go  till  him  and  stay  wid  him  till 
Ran  comes  back,  or  sinds  for  us  both,  as  he  promised  to  do/' 
"  So  Mr.  Hay  is  going  to  do  something  for  Mike  ?" 
"Yis,  ma'am — pit  him  intil  some  gintele  business." 
"Well,  Judy,  dear,  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  decided  to 
go  back  to  Grizzly;  but  how  do  you  propose  to  get  there, 
my  child?" 

"  Och,  sure,  the  same  way  I  got  here — take  me  fut  in  me 
hand  and  walk." 

"Oh,  that  will  never  do.    You  cannot  go  alone  through 
the  wilderness." 

"But,  sure,  I  wouldn't  be  alone.    I'd  have  Ran's  dog  wid 


me. 


"That  is  not  safeguard  enough." 

"Thin  I  could  ask  Misther  Longman  to  see  me  safe 
through  the  woods." 

"But  that  would  never  do,  either,  Judy.  No  child.  I 
must  get  the  colonel  to  send  a  messenger  to  Grizzly  to  fetch 
your  brother.  Only  with  your  brother  can  I  allow  you  to 
go  through  the  wilderness." 

"Oh,  misthress,  I'll  thank  you  on  me  bindid  knees  for 
that  same,  if  it  will  not  be  throubling  the  colonel  too 
much,"  said  Judy,  in  an  ardent  tone  of  voice,  that  showed 
haw  much  she  had  secretly  dreaded  a  lonely  pilgrimage 
through  the  deep  wilderness. 


320  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Still  later  in  the  day,  Mrs.  Moseley,  finding  herself  again 
tete-a-tete  with  her  husband,  explained  Judy's  position — 
her  fixed  conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  return  to  her 
brother,  to  await  Ran's  future  action,  and  her  resolution 
to  go  to  Grizzly.  And  then  the  lady  made  her  request  that 
the  colonel  would  send  a  messenger  to  Grizzly  to  fetch 
Mike. 

The  colonel  promptly  agreed  to  dispatch  a  man  on  that 
errand  early  the  next  morning. 

Ran,  when  he  heard  of  the  proposed  measure,  disap- 
proved of  it,  but  as  Judy  was  firm  in  her  own  convictions 
of  duty,  he  would  not  distress  her  by  vain  opposition. 

"I  would  not  interfere  with  Judy's  moral  free  agency  on 
any  account,"  he  said. 

Ran  was  to  leave  the  fort  on  Thursday,  en  route  for  San 
Francisco  and  New  York. 

So  that  night,  when  the  friends  separated  and  retired, 
all  their  plans  for  the  near  future  had  been  arranged. 

In  the  morning  the  messenger  was  to  set  out  for  Grizzly. 

The  man  selected  for  the  duty,  on  account  of  his  so- 
briety, fidelity  and  general  reliability,  was  Dick  Talboys. 

He  stood  at  the  door  of  the  adjutant's  quarters  equipped 
for  his  journey,  and  holding  the  bridle  of  his  mule  in  his 
hand,  waiting  for  the  colonel's  last  instructions,  when  who 
should  walk  up  and  salute  but  the  very  youth  who  was 
wanted — Mike  Man! 

"Why,  Michael!"  exclaimed  the  colonel.  "Talk  of  the 
devil  and  his  imps  appear !"  I  was  just  in  the  act  of  send- 
ing off  Talboys  to  fetch  you  !" 

"Yis,  surr?  And,  sure,  I'm  proud  to  be  here,  if  wanted. 
Is  it  about  Judy,  surr?  And  is  she  well,  if  you  plaise?" 
inquired  Mike,  rather  anxiously. 

"Yes,  it  is  about  Judy,  and  she  is  quite  well.  But  Mr. 
Hay  leaves  us  on  Thursday,  to  look  after  his  affairs  in  Xew 
York  and  in  London,  and  Judy  declines  Mrs.  Moseley's 
invitation  for  her  to  stay  at  the  fort,  and  insists  on  return- 
ing to  Grizzly  to  keep  your  house.  So  I  was  about  to  send 
for  you  to  come  and  fetch  her. 

"And  is  me  poor  Judy  crack-brained,  that  she  wud  go  to 
the  rough  and  rowdy  camp,  when  she  could  have  a  safe  and 
gintale  home  here  wid  the  colonel's  lady,  and  make  hersilf 
useful  to  the  family,  besides  ?"  demanded  Mike. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  321 

"We  have  not  been  able  to  persuade  her  to  change  her 
mind,  but  perhaps  you  may/'  replied  the  colonel. 

"Indade,  and  I  will,  surr.  I  kem  here  only  to  take  lave 
av  her.  Me  and  Ben  and  Dandy,  and  three  others  av  the 
bhoys,  are  on  our  way  to  the  silver  mines  av  Colerady." 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  your  sister?  She  is  over  there  at 
the  quarters,  with  Mrs.  Moseley,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Indade  I  do,  surr,  I  thank  ye  mist  kindly,"  said  Mike, 
making  two  or  three  deep  bows  before  he  set  off  at  a  brisk 
walk  for  the  piazza  on  which  he  saw  Judy  sitting  at  her 
needlework. 

She  happened  to  raise  her  eyes,  saw  him,  sprang  up  and 
ran  across  the  lawn  to  meet  him. 

"  Oh,  Mike,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  ye.  We  were  jist  goin' 
to  sind  for  ye,"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  arms  around 
her  brother's  neck. 

"So  the  colonel  said,"  replied  Mike,  as  he  kissed  her.  "I 
am  glad  I  saved  him  the  throuble,"  he  added. 

"But  though  mesilf  is  delighted  to  see  ye,  I  wad  like  to 
know  whativir  brought  ye  here,  Mike,  darlint,  so  unex 
picted,  yet  in  sich  good  time,  eh  ?" 

"Come  and  sit  down  on  this  binch  here,  Judy;  sure  I 
want  to  spake  till  yersilf,  before  I  go  up  to  the  house  to  pay 
me  rispicts  to  the  leddy." 

They  sat  down  side  by  side  on  the  lawn  seat,  and  Mike 
said: 

"I  have  lift  Grizzly,  and  sold  the  twin  huts  with  all  the 
furnitur  and  chickens  and  hin  coops,  for  what  I  could  git 
for  'em,  Judy,  about  twinty-five  dollars  in  goold  dust,  and 
mesilf,  Ben,  Dandy  asd  a  lot  av  ithir  bhoys  are  laving  for 
the  Colerady  silver  mines.  I  hev  come  to  tek  lave  of  ye, 
Judy,  and  to  give  ye  the  twinty-five  dollars  I  got  for  the 
property,"  he  said. 

Judy  was  so  astonished,  that  although  Mike  had  spoken 
slowly,  with  pauses,  she  never  once  interrupted  him  by  a 
word,  but  sat  staring  at  him  with  open  mouth  as  well  as 
open  eyes. 

"Well,  gurrul,  what  hev  ye  got  to  till  me?" 

Judy  said  nothing  just  then.  She  was  utterly  taken  by 
surprise  and  she  really  did  not  know  whether  she  was  glad 
or  sorry  to  be  relieved  from  the  "duty"  if  going  back  to  her 
rough,  hard  life  at  Grizzly  and  permitted  to  remain  at  her 


322  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

congenial  and  comfortable  quarters  at  the  fort.  At  length 
seeming  to  see  a  solution  of  her  problem,  she  inquired 
slowly  and  hesitatingly: 

"Why  cant'  I  go  along  wid  ye,  and  cook  and  wash  for  ye 
in  the  silver  mines  as  well  as  in  the  goold  ones  ?" 

"Hear  the  gurrul!  Because  there's  not  a  woman  in  the 
company." 

"All  the  more  raison  I  should  make  one." 

"All  the  more  raison  ye  shouldn't  stur  a  fut.  The  min 
won't  have  a  ruff  to  pit  their  heads  under  whin  they  git 
there.  They  hev  got  it  all  to  get  riddy  before  frost.  It 
wouldn't  be  safe  for  ye,  Judy." 

"I'm  not  afraid  av  nothink." 

"Will,  thin,  it  wouldn't  be — dacint  for  ye  to  go.  Div  ye 
hear  me,  Swishther  Judy  ?  It  wouldn't  be  dacint !" 

"Och!  will,  thin,  enough  said.  I'll  not  go!  There! 
Now  thin,  Mike,  I  don't  mind  about  the  things  ye  sold,  but 
how  could  ye  have  the  liarrt  to  sill  the  chickens?  Sure  I'm 
riddy  to  cry  me  eyes  out  about  the  craythurs !" 

"Mither  av  Moses!  Judy,  I  couldn't  bring  'im  along 
wid  me.  And  I  wouldn't  kill  and  ate  them.  So  I  jist  sold 
'em  to  Biddy  Me  Can,  and  med  her  promise  me  on  the  holy 
rosary  that  she  wouldn't  kill  one  av  thim,  but  would  kape 
'im  as  you  did,  for  the  eggs,  sure." 

"That's  me  darlint  Mike !  And  now,  another  tiling;  if  I 
lave  ye  go  widout  me,  whin  will  I  see  ye  ag'in?" 

"At  Christmas,  plaise  the  Lord." 

"Thin  I'll  not  graive  mesilf  to  death  about  your  going, 
sure,"  said  Judy. 

"And  now  I'll  go  and  pay  me  duty  to  the^eddy,"  said 
Mike,  rising  and  walking  toward  the  coloneTs  quarters, 
where  Mrs.  Moseley  sat  sewing  on  the  front  piazza. 

She  had  been  very  much  surprised  at  the  sudden  sight  of 
Mike  when  the  latter  had  first  come ;  and  now  she  received 
him  very  kindly,  and  waited  for  his  explanation. 

But  it  was  Judy  who  impulsively  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  dear !  Sure,  Mike  is  laving  to  seek  his  f or- 
tin  in  the  silver  mines,  and  will  not  have  me  to  kape  house 
for  him  because  he  will  have  no  house  to  kape.  He  has 
come  to  take  lave  of  me  till  Christmas,  and 'I  can  stay  wid 
you  if  ye  will  have  me." 

"I  will  have  you  with  pleasure,  dear  child,  and  I  am 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  323 

really  glad  that  you  are  not  going  to  leave  me,"  cordially 
replied  the  lady. 

At  this  moment  Ean  came  up,  started  with  surprise  at 
seeing  Mike,  and  then  shook  hands  with  him. 

Mike  explained,  for  the  fourth  time  that  morning,  the 
ohject  of  his  sudden  visit  to  the  fort. 

Ban  was  delighted  with  the  changed  aspect  of  affairs. 

It  was  so  much  better  for  every  reason  that  Judy  should 
remain  with  Mrs.  Moseley,  than  that  she  should  go  back  to 
the  mining  camp. 

"And  betwuxt  you  and  me  and  the  gate  post,"  whis- 
pered Mike,  in  an  aside  to  Ran,  "that  same  was  one  av  the 
raisons  why  I  bruk  up  at  Grizzly.  Whin  I  was  here  before 
I  seen  how  much  betther  it  was  for  the  gurrul  to  be  here 
wid  the  leddy  as  wanted  her,  nor  wid  mesilf  in  the  camp. 
So  I  saized  the  first  excuse  to  break  up." 

"It  was  very  disinterested,  very  considerate,  very  com- 
mendable of  you,  Michael,"  said  Ran,  taking  and  warmly 
pressing  his  friend's  hand. 

"Now  don't  be  afther  laying  on  yer  sthore  langwidge  on 
me,  Ran !  Why  don't  ye  slap  me  on  the  shoulther  and  say, 
'Mike,  ye're  a  brick !'  " 

"  'Mike,  ye're  a  brick !'  "  said  Ran,  laughing. 

Mike  stayed  another  hour,  and  then  took  leave  of  all  his 
friends,  kissed  his  sister,  and  left  her  in  tears  that  he 
knew  would  soon  be  dried  by  Ran's  devotion,  and  went  out 
to  join  his  comrades,  who  were  camped  on  the  outside  of 
the  fort  about  a  mile  further  on  and  were  only  waiting  for 
him  to  resume  their  march  toward  the  silver  mines  of 
Colorado. 

Here  they  were  joined  by  Longman,  the  hunter,  who  de- 
termined to  go  with  them. 

On  Thursday  morning  Ran  took  leave  of  his  kind  friends 
at  the  fort,  reserving  Judy  for  his  last  uttered  good-by. 

As  Mrs.  Moseley  pressed  his  hand  at  parting,  she  said: 

"It  is  I  who  will  undertake  the  first  course  of  Judy's  edu- 
cation. It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  and  to  her  also,  she  will 
be  so  quick  to  learn." 

"  God  bless  you,  madam.  I  have  no  other  words  in  which 
to  utter  my  deep  gratitude,"  said  Ran,  his  voice  trembling 
with  emotion. 

Then  he  turned  to  Judy : 


324  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Good-by,  darling  of  darlings !  Truest  of  true  hearts !  1 
shall  write  to  you  from  San  Francisco,  where  I  expect  to 
spend  but  one  day.  It  will  take  me  no  longer  to  get  the  at- 
tested copies  of  records  and  the  affidavits  I  require.  Then 
I  will  write  from  every  stopping  place  on  the  route  to  New 
York.  Good-by,  good-by !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

"THE  WICKED  FLOURISH" 

GENTLEMAN  GEFF  was  borne  onward  on  the  highest  wave 
of  prosperity  and  popularity. 

To  him  fortune  had  not  only  come  with  both  hands  full, 
but  followed  by  an  express  van  and  messenger  boy,  both 
loaded  down  with  offerings,  as  it  were ; 

Gentleman  Geff  was  in  his  glory. 

Is  it  true,  that  on  his  conscience,  or  rather  in  his  con- 
sciousness, were  two  great  crimes ;  but  he  did  not  call  them 
crimes;  he  called  them  fate. 

If  at  lonely  times  he  grew  "morbid"  over  the  memory  of 
them,  he  drank  freely,  then  wondered  why  they  had  ever 
troubled  his  mind  at  all,  since  he  was  so  safe  from  suffer- 
ing any  inconvenience  in  this  world,  and  since  he  did  not 
believe  in  a  future  one. 

He  had  every  reason  to  think  that  his  crimes  were  hidden 
too  deeply  ever  to  be  discovered. 

As  for  the  "removal"  of  young  Eandolph  Hay  ever  being 
traced  to  him,  why,  that  he  deemed  impossible.  The  body 
of  the  youth,  or  what  the  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  had  left 
of  it — the  bare  bones — were  bleaching  in  that  inaccessible 
ravine  of  the  rocks  into  which  he  himself,  Gentleman  Geff, 
had  rolled  it. 

And  to  make  security  doubly  sure,  had  he  not  read  an 
item  in  the  New  York  Trumpeter,  copied  from  the  Califor- 
nian  Leader,  describing  the  discovery,  in  the  heart  of  the 
black  woods,  of  the  dead  body  of  a  man,  afterward  identi- 
fied as  that  of  Mr.  Geoffrey  Delamere,  and  interred  with 
Christian  rites  in  the  militarv  cemetery  of  Fort  Black 
Heath. 

Yes,  Ran  Hay  and  Gentleman  Geff  were  settled  forever; 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  335 

and  out  of  their  ashes  arose  the  splendid  fireworks  of  his 
own  fortune  as  Randolph  Hay,  Esquire,  of  Haymore. 

And  then  that  later  deed  done  in  the  dead  of  night,  in 
the  deserted  street  of  the  crowded  city  ?  Had  not  the  death 
of  the  girl  been  ascribed  to  suicide?  "  At  least  that  was  the 
last  he  read  of  1ier  case  before  he  left  the  city,  and  thinking 
it  settled  in  a  "suicide's"  grave,  he  took  no  further  interest 
in  it. 

If  his  eyes  had  not  been  "holden,"  he  might  have  seen 
such  lines  as  these  in  succeeding  papers  : 

"The  girl,  Jennie  Montgomery,  who  attempted  to  com- 
mit suicide  is  still  living,  though  in  a  precarious  conditon," 
etc.,  etc. 

But  they  escaped  his  notice,  so  that  when  he  returned  to 
the  city  he  had  no  shadow  of  a  misgiving  or  suspicion  of 
danger. 

The  Vansitarts  had  returned  to  their  city  house,  which, 
during  the  last  month  of  their  absence,  had  been  thoroughly 
renovated,  decorated  and  refurnished.  All  that  wealth,  art 
and  skill  could  do  to  make  the  interior  that  of  a  splendid 
and  luxurious  palace  was  done,  and  the  family  settled  down 
for  the  autumn  and  winter  in  their  princely  home. 

Mr.  Randolph  Hay  was  a  constant  visitor,  and  the  wed- 
ding day  drew  near. 

Meanwhile,  how  fared  it  with  poor  Jennie  Montgomery 
and  her  child  ? 

Since  the  "fiasco"  of  Cleve  Stuart's  arrest,  the  police  had 
ceased  to  trouble  her  with  questions  as  to  the  identity  of 
her  murderous  assailant,  and  as  the  girl  was  getting  well 
and  was  obstinately  silent  on  the  subject,  and  as  the  public 
interest  in  it  had  subsided,  they  quietly  dropped  the  case, 
and  started  off,  hot  foot,  on  fine  fresh  scents  after  new 
criminals.  Every  day  brought  many  new  ones  to  give 
them  employment. 

Youth  and  a  strong  constitution,  with  the  best  medical 
science  and  best  nursing,  had  saved  Jennie's  life,  but  she 
convalesced  very  slowly. 

She  passed  most  of  her  days  seated  in  a  resting-chair  in 
the  convalescent  ward.  As  she  regained  her  strength  her 
beauty  improved.  A  very  touching  type  of  beauty  it  was— a 


326  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

slender  but  well-rounded  form,  a  shapely  head,  covered  with 
rippling  curls  of  chestnut  hair ;  a  baby  face  with  a  fair  fore- 
head, a  little  pug  nose,  pouting  lips,  curved  chin,  deep  blue 
eyes,  and  pale  rose  cheeks. 

The  child's  face  was  a  tiny  miniature  of  her  own. 

As  she  sat  wrapped  in  the  white  flannel  gown  of  the  hos- 
pital wardrobe,  with  her  baby,  swathed  in  linen  and  flannel, 
lying  across  her  knees,  she  formed  a  very  lovely  picture. 

The  visitors  at  the  hospital,  especially  the  women,  became 
very  much  interested  in  her  case.  She  would  tell  them, 
however,  no  more  than  she  had  already  told  the  nurse — that 
she  was  the  only  child  of  the  Kev.  James  Campbell,  curate 
of  Hedge,  in  Hantz,  England;  and  that  she  was  the  wife  of 
Capt.  Kightly  Montgomery. 

When  questioned  as  to  her  means  of  living,  and  her 
movements,  she  admitted  that  she  had  no  means,  but  that 
as  soon  as  she  should  leave  the  hosptal  she  should  try  to  get 
work  to  earn  money  enough  to  return  to  her  father  and 
mother,  who  were  pining  to  see  her,  and  who  would  take 
her  and  her  child  to  their  home  and  hearts ;  and  in  proof  of 
her  words  she  showed  her  marriage  certificate  and  her 
father's  letters  to  herself. 

The  women  consulted  among  themselves  over  a  five 
o'clock  tea  at  Mrs.  Duncan's — one  of  their  number — as  to 
what  had  best  be  done  to  help  this  poor  young  creature. 

As  to  her  being  able  to  support  herself  and  child,  and 
save  money  enough  to  go  to  England,  even  by  a  steerage 
passage — the  plan  was  not  only  impracticable,  but  absurd. 
The  city  was  overstocked  with  needlewomen,  who  were 
working  at  starvation  wages. 

What,  then,  could  be  done  for  poor  Jennie  Montgomery  ? 

At  length  Mrs.  Duncan,  their  hostess — a  kind-hearted, 
straightforward  young  woman — said: 

"What  is  the  use  in  trying  to  provide  for  the  poor  child 
in  New  York  ?  Let  us  raise  the  money  by  subscription,  and 
give  her  and  her  baby  a  nice  outfit,  and  buy  her  a  first-class 
ticket  in  one  of  the  best  steamers,  and  send  her  home  to 
England  and  to  her  parents.  That  is  the  best  to  do  for 
her." 

"So  it  is!  So  it  is!"  several  voices  responded,  and  the 
proposition  was  received  with  eclat. 

A  subscription  was  started  then  and  there.    Each  of  the 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  827 

women  present  put  flown  her  name  for  a  sum  according  to 
her  means — or  her  liberality — and  they  appointed  Mrs. 
Duncan  treasurer. 

"We  will  only  call  on  our  own  immediate  friends  and 
relatives  for  aid  in  this  work.  We  need  not  go  out  of  our 
inner  circle.  I  shall  call  on  the  Vansitarts  and  Miss  Leegh. 
They  are  noted  for  their  benevolence,  and  at  a  joyous  time 
like  this,  when  they  are  preparing  for  a  grand  wedding, 
their  hearts  must  be  singularly  open  to  pity  for  this  poor, 
deserted  young  creature — 'a  widow  in  fate,  though  not  in 
fact.'  I  shall  call  there  to-morrow  morning.  And  you  will 
all  please  to  meet  me  here  to-morrow  afternoon  at  three 
o'clock." 

"And  I  would  like  to  suggest,"  said  Mrs  Murphy,  the 
oldest  and  most  discreet  of  the  circle,  "that  we  say  nothing 
to  the  poor  young  woman  until  we  have  succeeded  in  get- 
ting her  ticket/' 

"Certainly;  we  will  say  nothing  that  will  raise  false 
hopes/'  replied  one  other  of  the  party,  speaking  for  the 
rest. 

"But,  indeed,  there  shall  be  no  false  hopes.  I  mean  to 
see  this  enterprise  successfully  through,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Duncan.  "However,  I  agree  with  our  friend  there,  that 
nothing  shall  be  said  to  Jennie  until  everything  is  settled," 
she  added. 

Then  the  little  party  broke  up. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Murphy  interviewed  the  house 
physician  of  the  hospital  as  to  when  Jennie  Montgomery 
would  be  well  enough  to  be  discharged. 

She  was  informed  that  if  the  young  woman  should 
continue  to  improve,  she  would  be  discharged  about  the 
twentieth  of  the  month. 

Mrs.  Murphy  met  her  friends  at  Mrs.  Duncan's  that 
afternoon,  and  reported  the  answer  of  the  house  physician. 

"Therefore,"  concluded  the  old  lady,  "I  think  that  her 
passage  had  better  be  taken  for  the  first  of  October,  to  be 
on  the  safe  side.  She  may  leave  the  hospital  on  the  twen- 
tieth, yet  not  be  able  to  embark  on  a  sea  voyage.  We  can 
board  her  somewhere  in  the  interval." 

"She  shall  come  here,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  promptly. 
"And  now  I  wish  to  tell  you  the  result  of  my  visit  to  the 
yansitarts.  Mrs.  Vansitart  was  interested  at  once ;  so  was 


328  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Miss  Leegh.  Mrs.  Vansitart  told  me  to  take  no  trouble 
with  the  outfit,  as  she  would  like  to  provide  the  whole  of  it 
herself.  Ah !  my  dear,  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  a  great 
heart  and  a  large  fortune  at  the  same  time;  to  feel  happi- 
ness and  to  confer  it.  Such  is  Mrs.  Vansitart's  lot.  Miss 
Leegh  gave  five  dollars  toward  the  ticket ;  and  the  ticket  is 
all  we  have  to  concern  ourselves  with  now.  Let  us  see  how 
much  we  have  toward  it." 

Each  woman  came  forward  and  deposited  on  the  table 
what  she  had  collected. 

Mrs.  Duncan,  the  treasurer  of  the  little  fund,  counted  it 
up,  and  exclaimed : 

"  One  hundred  and  ninety-five  dollars !  That  will  get 
her  a  first-class  passage,  and  leave  her  a  little  fund  for  con- 
tingencies. After  all,  how  easy  it  is  to  raise  money  for 
really  charitable  and  meritorious  cases." 

The  next  day  the  ticket  was  bought  for  a  first-cabin  pas- 
sage in  the  Scorpio,  to  sail  October  1st,  from  New  York 
for  Liverpool. 

Mrs.  Duncan  was  deputed  by  the  other  donors  to  take 
the  ticket  and  the  money  to  Jennie  Montgomery. 

It  was  a  pleasant  task  in  which  she  delighted. 

She  found  the  young  mother,  not  seated,  as  usual,  in  her 
resting-chair,  but  walking  up  and  down  the  floor,  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms. 

"Well,  my  dear !"  said  the  lady,  seating  herself  in  a  com- 
mon chair,  "I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  so  well  on  your  feet. 
How  are  you  feeling?" 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  am  feeling  very  well.  I  grow 
stronger  every  day.  The  doctors  say  that  I  may  leave  on 
next  Thursday." 

"That  is  just  six  days  off.  Have  you  thought  of  what 
you  are  going  to  do  ?" 

"I  think  I  shall  go  back  to  the  house  on  Vevay  Street, 
where  I  took  a  room  when  I  first  landed  in  the  country. 
I  was  there  but  three  days,  but  still  I  got  a  little  acquainted 
with  the  landlady,  and  I  should  rather  go  there  than  go 
about  looking  for  a  room  among  perfect  strangers.  Be- 
sides, what  should  I  do  with  baby  while  I  should  be 
hunting?" 

"But  suppose  the  room  on  Vevay  Street  should  be  let?" 

"Oh,  then  I  should  leave  Ifce  baby  with  the  woman  of  the 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  329 

house,  who  is  kind,  and  should  have  to  go  hunting.  But  I 
•won't  suppose  that  until  it  happens." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  get  the  room  you  wish,  what  will  he 
your  next  step  ?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  to  take  all  I  can  spare  from  my  little 
effects,  and  pawn  them  for  money  to  live  on  while  I  am 
looking  for  work." 

"And  if  you  should  not  get  the  work  ?" 

"Oh,  ma'am,  in  that  case — the  Lord  will  provide." 

Mrs.  Duncan  stooped  and  kissed  the  little,  childish, 
pathetic  face. 

What  a  different  face  from  that  of  the  desperate  woman 
who  had  defied  the  gentlemanly  ruffian  on  that  terrible 
night  of  the  thirty-first  of  July,  and  driven  him  to  attempt 
her  life !  It  really  seemed  as  if  her  infant  had  brought  back 
to  her  the  peace  and  good  will,  the  simplicity  and  harmless- 
ness  of  her  own  childhood. 

"My  little  girl,"  said  the  woman,  softly,  "you  will  not  go 
to  Vevay  Street.  Nor  will  you  go  room-hunting  anywhere. 
You  will  go  home  with  me  and  stay  until  the  first  of  Octo- 
ber, and  on  that  day  you  will  sail  for  England  to  go  home 
to  your  parents." 

Jennie  gazed  at  the  speaker  in  childlike  wonder,  which 
grew  higher  at  every  spoken  word  until  the  last  one  was 
uttered,  when  she  exclaimed: 

"Home  with  you!  And  then — sail  for  England  on  the 
first  of  October,  to  gp  home  to  my  parents !  Oh,  madam ! 
I  hear  the  words,  but  I  don't  understand  them." 

"Perhaps  you  will  now !  See !  here  is  .your  ticket !"  said 
Mrs.  Duncan,  placing  the  paper  in  her  hand. 

Jennie  had  been  standing  all  this  while  with  her  baby 
held  on  one  arm  against  her  breast,  with  its  little  head  on 
her  shoulder. 

Now  she  sank  down  in  her  resting-chair,  and  looked  at 
the  paper. 

Then  her  face  brightened  with  joy.  She  was  a  perfect 
child  in  her  readiness  to  accept  the  favor,  without  a  thought 
of  humiliation  to  herself. 

"A  ticket  for  a  passage  on  the  Scorpio!  I  can  go  home! 
I  can  go  home  to  the  dear,  peaceful  parsonage,  and  to  my 
dear  parents !  Oh,  madam !  What  happiness !  Oh,  now  I 


330  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

thank  you,  beyond  all  words  to  tell,  for  this  great  happi- . 
ness  I"  she  fervently  exclaimed. 

"It  is  not  my  gift,  dear  child,  but  the  gift  of  several 
friends  who  feel  a  warm  interest  in  you." 

"They  are  angels.  And  you  are  an  angel !"  cried  Jennie, 
seizing  the  hand  of  the  lady  and  pressing  it  to  her  heart 
and  to  her  lips. 

"There,  dear.  You — you  overrate  a  simple  act  of  neigh- 
borly kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  pressing  the  hand  of 
the  girl  and  then  gently  withdrawing  her  own. 

"Tell  me  who  they  are,  besides  your  dear  self,  that  I  may 
forever  remember  them  in  my  prayers." 

Mrs.  Duncan  put  a  paper  in  her  hands. 

"This  is  the  subscription  list,  my  dear,  but  it  was  never 
intended  for  your  sight,"  she  said. 

"But  you  will  let  me  keep  it !  Oh,  you  will  Jet  me  keep 
it,  so  that  I  may  always  remember  them,  though  they  are 
too  good  ever  to  need  my  prayers." 

To  change  the  conversation,  Mrs.  Duncan  said : 

"If  before  the  twentieth  the  doctors  should  consent  for 
you  to  leave  the  hospital,  I  will  bring  a  carriage  to  take  you 
home  with  me,  and  you  may,  perhaps,  have  two  clear  weeks 
to  recuperate  before  you  sail  for  Liverpool." 

"Words  would  be  mockery !  I  wish  there  was  some  sure 
way  of  proving  how  grateful  I  am !"  cried  Jennie,  almost 
ready  to  weep  for  joy  and  thankfulness. 

"You  are  much  too  grateful,  poor  child !  That  is  your 
only  fault.  Now  good-by  !  I  will  see  you  again." 

And  she  kissed  Jennie  and  the  baby,  and  left  them. 

Before  the  twentieth  she  got  the  doctor's  leave  to  take 
her  protegee  away  from  the  hospital ;  so,  on  the  morning  of 
the  seventeenth,  Jennie  and  her  baby  were  delightfully 
domiciled  in  Mrs.  Duncan's  pretty  house,  on  one  of  the 
uptown  streets,  overlooking  Central  Park. 

The  Duncan  household  consisted  of  husband  and  wife, 
with  two  half-grown  sons  and  daughters. 

The  head  of  the  family  was  now  in  Europe,  buying  goods 
for  the  winter  trade  of  his  firm,  of  which  he  was  the  "Co." 

Mrs.  Duncan  and  her  daughters  made  a  great  pet  of  the 
baby,  and  took  it,  with  its  little  mother,  every  day  for  an 
airing  in  the  park.  And  Jennie  was  happier  than  she  had 
ever  been  since  she  had  left  her  father's  house. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  331 

From  under  the  wing  of  Mrs.  Duncan's  protection  she 
wrote  to  her  father  announcing  the  birth  of  her  infant  girl, 
whom  she  should  name  for  her  mother,  Esther,  but  whose 
baptism  should  be  delayed  until  she  could  place  it  in  her 
father's  arms  at  the  font  before  the  altar  of  Medge  parish 
church — a  happiness  she  hoped  to  enjoy  some  time  in  the 
middle  of  the  month  of  October,  as  her  passage  was 
engaged  on  the  Scorpio,  which  was  to  sail  for  Liverpool  on 
the  first 

She  wrote  not  one  word  about  her  husband  or  her  trou- 
ble, but  she  enlarged  on  the  kindness  of  her  hostess  and 
of  the  friends  she  had  made  in  New  York. 

"Father  will  know  that  there  is  something  wrong  by 
my  omission  to  speak  of  Kightly,  and  that  will  prepare  him 
to  hear  the  truth.  Meantime  he  will  know  that  I  am  with 
good  friends,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  sealed  her  letter. 

At  this  time,  at  the  Vansitart  mansion,  all  the  prepara- 
tions for  the.  grand  wedding  were  completed.  When  the 
best  caterer  in  the  city  has  been  charged  with  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  breakfast,  and  has  received  carte  blanche  to 
provide  without  regard  to  cost;  when  artists  and  florists 
have  taken  similar  orders  for  the  decorations,  and  the  finest 
band  in  the  city  has  been  engaged  for  the  music,  there  is 
little  or  nothing  left  for  the  ladies  of  the  family  to  look 
after.  Even  their  toilets  are  more  the  affairs  of  the  dress- 
makers and  ladies'  maids  than  of  themselves. 

Yet  on  the  day  week  preceding  the  wedding  not  only  was 
Mrs.  Vansitart  busy  herself,  but  she  kept  Miss  Leegh  busy 
also ;  so  that  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  could  not  get  a  glimpse  of 
his  bride-elect  until  evening. 

She  was  looking  very  beautiful  when  he  dropped  in  one 
night  after  dinner.  She  wore  an  ivory  damasse'  satin,  with 
blush  roses  on  her  bosom  and  in  her  hair. 

"I  have  been  here  twice  already  to-day,  without  being 
able  to  see  you,"  he  said,  taking  his  seat  beside  her  on  one 
of  the  sofas. 

"I  have  been  out  all  day  with  Mrs.  Vansitart,  doing — 
now,  what  do  you  think?"  she  archly  inquired. 

"By  Jove !    I  could  not  guess  if  I  were  to  try  all  night." 

"Buying  an  outfit  for  a  young  mother  and  child,  who  are 
just  discharged  from  the  hospital,  and  are  going  to  be  sent 
home  to  Europe  by  kind  friends." 


332  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"  Ton  my  life,  very  benevolent,  I  call  it." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so.  And  the  outfit  Mrs.  Vansitart 
has  provided  for  the  mother  and  child  is  no  2heap  affair,  I 
assure  you,  but  a  much  better  one  than  could  be  afforded 
by  middle-class  people.  Every  article  of  clothing  in  dozens, 
and  of  fine  material,  if  not  of  the  finest." 

"Very  liberal,  upon  my  soul!" 

"And  they  have  engaged  for  her  no  steerage  or  second- 
class  berth,  but  a  good  stateroom  amidships  in  the  Scorpio, 
that  sails  for  Liverpool  on  the  first  of  October.  And  you 
know  what  a  ship  the  Scorpio  is.  It  is  always  your  favorite 
steamer." 

"Oh,  yes !  I  have  engaged  our  own  passage  in  her.  That 
is  what  I  wished  to  tell  you.  But  I  was  not  so  fortunate  as 
your  pauper — millionaires  seldom  are,  odd  as  that  sounds. 
I  was  not  early  enough.  All  the  best  staterooms  had  been 
engaged — one  of  the  very  best  rooms,  it  seems,  for  your 
pauper.  The  steamers  going  to  Europe  at  this  season  are 
not  often  full,  the  tide  of  travel  being  from  the  other  side. 
If  I  had  not  been  deceived  by  that  circumstance,  I  should 
have  been  in  time  to  get  a  choice  stateroom.  However,  we 
have  a  fairly  good  one,  large  and  commodious,  though  not 
amidships." 

"Then  we  shall  have  this  interesting  young  mother  and 
child  for  fellow  voyagers,"  said  Mit,s  Leegh. 

"What  a  beautiful  hand  and  arm  you  have,  Lamia !  But 
then  you  are  all  beauty — perfect  beauty !  What  a  startling 
sensation  you  will  excite  in  London !  But  you  must  not 
make  me  jealous,  my  dear.  I  will  not  stand  a  rival,  not 
even  in  the  Koyal  British  Basha,  as  we  call  him,"  said  Gen- 
tleman Geff,  gazing  meditatively  down  on  the  superb 
woman  his  stolen  wealth  and  rank  had  bought.  He  had 
scarcely  heard  her  words  about  their  fellow  voyagers.  He 
was  not  interested  in  this  mother  and  babe — his  own  wife 
and  his  own  child ! — the  only  ones  who  had  a  legal  claim 
upon  him  as  husband  and  father,  for  all  that  he  had  told 
Jennie  about  her  numerous  predecessors  in  his  evanescent 
affections,  the  first  of  whom  had  the  only  lawful  right  to 
him,  according  to  his  statement,  was  pure  fiction. 

Of  course,  he  had  not  the  faintest  shade  of  suspicion 
that  the  protegees  of  Mrs.  Vansitart  and  her  friends  were 
anything  whatever  to  himself. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  339 

He  believed  Jennie  and  her  unborn  child  to  be  moldering 
away  in  a  so-called  suicide's  grave  in  Potter's  Field.  He 
never,  willingly,  gave  them  a  thought. 

So  he  was  not  in  the  least  concerned  about  his  fellow 
passengers.  He  did  not  even  care  to  ask  the  young  woman's 
name;  nor  did  Miss  Leegh  happen  to  mention  it,  although 
she  might  have  done  so  at  any  moment,  as  she  would  have 
told  Jennie's  piteous  story  as  far  as  it  was  known  to  herself, 
which  was,  indeed,  as  far  as  it  was  known  to  anyone  except 
to  the  young  wife  and  her  false  husband. 

She  would  have  told  this  story  if  she  had  had  the  slight- 
est encouragement  to  do  so;  but  Gentleman  Geff  looked 
indifferent,  not  to  say  bored;  and  so  Miss  Leegh  quietly 
dropped  the  subject. 

Yet,  if  Gentleman  Geff  had  known ! 

As  it  was,  he  went  blindly  on  to  his  fate. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

A  MEMORABLE  DAY  IN  MANY  PLACES 

THE  first  of  October,  the  day  of  the  wedding  and  the  day 
of  the  sailing,  dawned  bright  and  clear  over  land  and  sea. 

In  the  Vansitart  mansion,  there  was  no  hurry,  no  con- 
fusion, no  excitement,  such  as  too  often  attends  wedding 
days  in  less  fortunate  houses.  Money  puts  felt  under  the 
carpets  and  oil  on  the  hinges,  metaphorically  as  well  as 
literally. 

The  splendid  drawing-room  had  been  decorated  for  the 
reception,  and  in  the  superb  dining-room  a  sumptuous 
breakfast  had  been  laid — all  swiftly,  smoothly,  silently,  as 
if  by  magic. 

All  was  so  still,  peaceful  and  orderly,  that  no  one  would 
have  imagined  any  event  of  importance  about  to  take  place, 
unless  he  had  been  given  a  view  of  the  splendidly  decorated 
drawing-room,  or  the  sumptuous  and  festive  dining-room. 

Before  the  front  of  the  house  two  elegant  carriages  were 
standing — one  a  capacious  clarence,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 


334.  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

fine,  white  Arabian  horses;  the  other  an  open  landau, 
drawn  by  an  equally  fine  pair  of  bays. 

These  were  waiting  to  take  the  bride's  party  to  St.  Basil's 
Church,  where  the  bridegroom  was  to  meet  them,  and  where 
the  marriage  ceremony  was  to  be  performed. 

At  exactly  half -past  eleven  o'clock  the  party  assembled  in 
the  drawing-room. 

And  "first  in  honor  and  in  place,"  was  the  fair  bride,  in  a 
rich  dress  of  white  brocaded  satin,  with  a  train  of  white 
velvet,  all  elegantly  trimmed  with  duchess  lace  and  seed 
pearls.  A  wreath  of  orange  blossoms,  with  a  long,  rich 
spray,  crowned  the  beautiful  golden-haired  head,  and  an 
ample  veil  of  duchess  lace  hung  from  it,  and  flowed  down 
over  the  skirt  and  followed  the  long  train.  Necklace,  brace- 
lets and  eardrops  of  diamonds — the  gift  of  the  bridegroom 
— lighted  up  this  beautiful  costume. 

Six  bridesmaids,  selected  from  the  young  friends  of  the 
family,  were  tastefully  dressed  in  white  tulle,  looped  up 
with  clusters  of  white  rosebuds  over  white  silk,  and  little 
white  chip  hats,  with  sprays  of  the  same  flowers  on  their 
heads. 

Mrs.  Vansitart  wore  a  violet  velvet  gown,  with  old  point 
lace  and  diamonds,  and  on  her  head  a  violet  velvet  turban, 
to  match  the  dress. 

"If  we  are  all  ready,  we  had  better  go  to  the  carriages/' 
eaid  the  elder  lady. 

And  the  party  filed  out  of  the  house. 

Mr.  Peter  Vansitart,  in  full  dress,  with  a  half-blown 
Marechal  Neil  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  and  the  two  little 
twelve  and  fourteen-year-old  daughters  of  the  house  in  pink 
dresses,  were  waiting  on  the  porch. 

Mr.  Vansitart  put  his  wife,  the  bride-elect  and  four 
bridesmaids  into  the  ample  clarence,  where  they  sat  without 
being  crowded,  three  on  a  seat,  facing  each  other.  Then  he 
put  the  two  younger  bridesmaids  and  his  own  two  little 
daughters  in  the  open  landau,  into  which  he  followed  them. 

The  boys  of  the  family  had  already  gone  to  the  church  in 
advance,  and  found  convenient  places. 

As  soon  as  all  were  seated  the  carriages  set  off. 

A  ten  minutes'  drive  brought  them  to  the  church,  before 
which  the  unusually  large  crowd  of  carriages  announced 
the  fullness  of  the  attendance. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  335 

The  bride's  party  left  the  carriages  and  entered  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  church,  where  they  formed  a  procession,  headed 
by  Mr.  Vansitart,  with  the  bride  on  his  arm,  and  followed 
by  all  the  other  members  of  the  party,  walking  two  and  two. 

As  they  passed  up  the  central  aisle  of  the  crowded  church 
the  organ  struck  up  a  wedding  march  composed  for  the 
occasion. 

The  church,  like  the  mansion,  had  been  profusely  dec- 
orated with  the  choicest  flowers,  and  as  the  bride's  proces- 
sion went  on,  it  passed  under  a  succession  of  the  richest 
floral  arches. 

As  they  neared  the  altar,  where  two  clergymen  stood  in 
their  white  vestments,  a  door  on  the  left  was  seen  to  open, 
and  from  it  came  another  little  procession — that  of  the 
bridegroom  and  his  friends. 

The  two  parties  bowed  to  the  officiating  minister,  then 
to  each  other,  and  then  formed  a  semicircle,  in  the  middle 
of  which  knelt  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride  before  the 
altar. 

The  ceremony  was  commenced  and  concluded  in  the 
usual  manner. 

Mr.  Peter  Vansitart  gave  away  the  bride. 

At  the  end  of  the  rites  the  congregation — or  company? 
— left  their  pews  and  came  crowding  around  the  newly 
married  pair  with  warm  congratulations.  From  these  at 
last  they  escaped  to  the  vestry  room,  where  they  had  to 
sign  the  marriage  register. 

Then  to  the  carriages  that  awaited  them  on  the  ouside. 

Gentleman  Geff,  or  Mr.  Randolph  Hay,  led  his  bride  to 
a  very  elegant  barouche  that  stood  waiting  for  them. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  party  resumed  their 
seats  in  their  own  carriages,  and  then  all  drove  back  to  the 
Vansitart  mansion,  where  the  wedding  breakfast  awaited 
them,  and  about  a  score  of  intimate  friends,  among  whom 
was  the  officiating  clergyman. 

The  breakfast  passed  off  as  all  such  affairs  do,  with 
speech  making  and  health  drinking,  with  compliments,  flat- 
teries, laughing  and  chaffing. 

There  was  to  be  a  large  reception  at  two  o'clock ;  but  the 
favored  few  lingered  so  long  at  the  table  that  the  bridal 
party  had  scarcely  time  to  reach  the  drawing-room  and 
arrange  themselves  under  the  floral  arch  with  the  wedding 


336  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

bells,  to  receive  with  propriety,  before  the  early 
began  to  arrive. 

Even  a  homely  woman  generally  looks  pretty  in  her  wed- 
ding drees. 

But  "Mrs.  Eandolph  Hay"  was  transcendently  beautiful. 
Many  a  single  man  there  envied  "Mr.  Randoph  Hay,"  the 
proudest  of  bridegrooms. 

A  young  sprig  of  diplomacy,  who  had  been  an  attache  to 
more  than  one  embassy,  declared  that  this  reminded  him  of 
a  queen's  drawing-room ;  only,  he  added,  he  had  never  seen 
queen  or  princess  so  royally,  resplendently  beautiful  as  Mrs. 
Eandolph  Hay ! 

And  the  wealth,  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  metropolis  had 
come  to  do  her  honor. 

The  reception  had  been  announced  for  from  two  till  five. 

It  was  a  little  after  the  last-mentioned  hour,  and  the 
rooms  were  still  full  of  guests,  when  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph Hay,"  having,  as  they  rightly  supposed,  received 
their  last  arrival,  and  the  time  being  over,  slipped  away  to 
change  their  wedding  attire  for  traveling  suits. 

All  their  effects,  their  trunks,  and  even  the  costly  pres- 
ents that  represented  many  thousands  of  dollars  had  been 
carefully  packed  in  boxes,  and  had  been  sent  on  board  the 
Scorpio. 

Last  of  all,  the  bridal  dress,  veil  and  wreath  that  the 
bride  had  hastily  put  off,  were  delicately  folded  and  laid  in 
a  cedar  case  that  was  to  go  in  the  carriage  with  them. 

All  the  pair  had  now  to  do  was  to  take  leave  of  their 
friends  and  drive  down  to  the  pier  and  go  on  their  steamer, 
which  was  advertised  to  sail  at  seven  o'clock  that  after- 
noon. 

When  they  were  all  ready  to  start  a  messenger  went 
down  to  the  drawing-room  with  an  adroit  whisper,  here  and 
there,  to  members  of  the  household.  And  presently  after- 
ward they  came  up  in  small  detachments,  for  it  would  not 
look  well  for  all  the  family  to  leave  the  drawing-room  at  the 
same  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vansitart  came  up  first,  kissed  the  bride, 
warmly  shook  hands  with  the  bridegroom,  and  blessed  them 
both. 

•Then  followed  the  children. 

Lastly  the  bridesmaids. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  337 

It  was  not  a  sentimental  parting  with  anyone. 

Voyages  across  the  Atlantic  are  nothing  in  these  days 
and  were  nothing  in  those. 

It  was  half-past  five  when  the  last  good-by  was  spoken 
and  the  newly  married  pair  entered  their  carriage,  which 
in  half  an  hour  took  them  down  to  the  pier  where  the 
Scorpio  lay. 

Pier  and  ship  were  crowded  with  people  going  to  Europe, 
and  other  people  seeing  them  off. 

It  was  to  avoid  such  a  public  exhibition  that  the  bridal 
pair  had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  speak  their  adieus  at  the 
Vansitart  house. 

"Take  me  at  once  to  my  stateroom,  out  of  this  horrid 
purgatory,"  said  Lamia,  with  an  expression  of  disgust  and 
impatience,  that  rather  marred  the  perfect  charm  of  her 
serene  beauty. 

Gentleman  Geff  caught  a  distracted  steward  on  the  wing, 
and  induced  him  to  look  at  their  ticket  and  find  some  one 
to  show  them  to  their  quarters. 

And  there  they  shut  themselves  up  to  wait  until  the  ship 
should  be  under  way  and  the  deck  quiet. 

Meanwhile,  how  fared  it  with  our  other  expectant  voy- 
agers, Jennie  Montgomery  and  her  child? 

The  young  woman  had  risen  earlier  than  usual  to  greet 
the  glorious  October  day  that  was  to  be  the  last  of  her  stay 
in  the  clime  where  the  glory  of  the  autumn  is  unrivaled. 

She  washed  and  dressed  her  baby,  as  she  had  learned  to 
do  in  the  hospital  and  as  she  had  done  ever  since  she  had 
come  to  Mrs.  Duncan.  Then  she  made  her  own  toilet,  and 
took  her  baby  downstairs  to  the  plain  morning  sitting-room 
usually  occupied  by  Mrs.  Duncan  and  her  children. 

She  found  them  assembled,  and  all  with  some  little  last 
gift  for  the  mother  and  babe,  to  be  put  in  the  carpetbag 
and  worn  on  the  voyage. 

"Here  is  a  large,  soft,  white  shawl  to  wrap  baby  in  when 
you  take  her  on  deck.  My  own  work.  I  have  been  knitting 
it  ever  since  you  were  here,"  said  Julia,  the  ten-year-old 
daughter,  dropping  the  gift,  with  a  kiss,  on  Jennie's  arm, 
and  running  away  to  escape  thanks. 

Then  followed  long  woolen  socks  to  be  drawn  over  baby's 
limbs,  and  a  hood  for  baby's  head,  and  warm  flannel  wrap- 
pers for  baby.  All  the  children's  last  gifts  were  "for  baby," 


338  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

A  large,  fur-lined  cloak  with  sleeves  and  hood  was  the 
gift  of  "an  anonymous  friend."  A  sea  suit  of  navy  blue 
cloth,  just  finished,  and  brought  home  ready  to  put  on,  was 
Mrs.  Duncan's  last  offering  to  Jennie. 

"You  overwhelm  me  with  kindness — I  cannot  bear  it!" 
exclaimed  the  girl,  bursting  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Duncan  put  her  arms  around  Jennie  and  kissed  her. 

"Why,  my  dear,  why  do  you  weep?  Why,  I  love  to  get 
presents.  I  would  much  rather  wear  anything  that  was 
given  me  by  a  friend  than  anything  I  had  bought  myself. 
Not  from  any  motive  of  avarice,  oh,  no !  but  because  there 
is  a  soul  of  love  in  the  thing  given  that  makes  itself  felt, 
and  gives  happiness.  For  instance,  when  baby  is  wrapped 
in  that  white  shawl  that  Julia  knit  for  her,  she  is  also 
wrapped  in  Julia's  love.  And  everything  from  us  that  you 
wear  wraps  you  in  our  love." 

"I  know !  Oh !  I  know !  And  though  I'm  crying,  yet  I 
am  glad — and  so  grateful !  What  will  my  dear  father  and 
mother  say  when  I  tell  them  of  all  you  have  done  for  me? 
How  under  the  Divine  Providence  you  have  raised  me  from 
the  dead  and  made  life  again  durable  and  even  happiness 
possible?"  exclaimed  Jennie,  taking  and  fondly  pressing 
the  lady's  hand  to  her  heart,  her  lips  and  her  forehead 
which  she  bowed  upon  it. 

The  sound  of  the  breakfast  bell  was  a  welcome  summons, 
and  all  went  to  the  dining-room  and  sat  down  to  the  table, 
a  housemaid  relieving  Jennie  of  the  baby  during  the  meal. 

After  breakfast,  as  they  left  the  table  and  crossed  the 
hall,  Jennie  saw  an  immense  Saratoga  trunk  standing  near 
the  front  door. 

With  childish  curiosity  she  stooped  to  read  the  large 
painted  letters  of  its  address.  It  was : 

MRS.  RIGHTLY  MONTGOMERY, 
Care  of  the  Rev.  James  Campbell, 

Parsonage,  Medge, 

Hantz,  England. 
Per  ship  Scorpio. 

From  the  inscription  she  raised  her  eyes,  dilated  with 
wonder,  to  the  smiling  face  of  Mrs.  Duncan,  who  answered 
her  mute  inquiry : 

"Where  did  it  come  from,  do  you  mean?    I  will  tell  you, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  339 

dear.  It  came  from  a  certain  good  friend  of  yours  who 
wished  in  this  manner  to  express  her  esteem." 

"Tell  me  her  name,  that  I  may  join  it  with  yours  in  my 
prayers/'  pleaded  Jennie. 

"I  cannot,  dear.  I  am  under  a  pledge  not  to  speak  it. 
But  doubtless  you  will  find  a  letter  in  the  trunk  from  your 
unknown  friend.  But  the  trunk  must  not  be  opened  until 
it  reaches  its  destination.  And  it  will  have  to  be  sent  off 
to  the  steamer  at  once,  for  it  will  have  to  go  in  the  hold  and 
stay  there  until  the  ship  reaches  port.  They  don't  allow 
huge  trunks  like  this  in  the  cabin  or  the  staterooms.  The 
little  trunk  that  Jule  and  Nell  have  packed  for  you  con- 
tains all  that  you  will  need  in  addition  to  the  contents  of 
your  bags — for  the  voyage;  these  you  can  have  in  your 
stateroom." 

While  the  group  lingered,  talking,  in  the  front  hall,  the 
doorbell  rang,  and  a  parlormaid  came  and  opened  the  door 
to  admit  the  expressman  who  had  been  sent  for  and  had 
come  to  take  the  baggage  to  the  steamer. 

When  it  was  all  taken  out  and  dispatched,  Mrs.  Duncan 
said: 

"And  now,  dear,  as  you  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  to-day 
but  to  drive  to  the  steamer  at  about  six  o'clock,  and  as  you 
will  not,  after  you  sail  this  evening,  see  land  again  for 
.  eight  or  ten  days,  I  think  you  and  I  and  the  girls  will  take 
a  drive  down  the  avenue,  and  then  through  Central  Park, 
that  you  may  take  away  with  you  a  pleasant  picture  of  trees 
and  flowers." 

"Oh,  what  can  I  say?  You  leave  me  nothing  to  say.  I 
kiss  your  dear  hands !"  exclaimed  Jennie,  in  a  voice  full  of 
emotion,  as  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word. 

"Then  we'll  go !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Duncan.  And  she  rang 
the  bell  and  ordered  the  carriage. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  whole  party — consisting  of  Mrs. 
Duncan,  Jule  and  Nell,  Jennie  and  the  baby — entered  the 
carriage,  which  was  driven  down  Broadway,  and  then  up 
Fifth  Avenue  toward  Central  Park. 

When  near  the  park  they  passed  a  handsome  double 
brownstone  mansion,  before  which  stood  two  elegant  car- 
Tiages,  drawn  by  fine  horses. 

Jennie  looked  out  of  the  window  on  her  side,  and  nearest 
the  house  in  question.  She  recognized  the  Vansitart  man- 


£40  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

sion,  before  which  at  night  she  had  met  her  would-be 
assassin.  She  changed  color,  sank  back  in  her  corner,  and 
bent  her  head  over  her  baby,  lest  Mrs.  Duncan  could  detect 
her  agitation  and  ask  her  questions  which  she  could  not 
answer. 

The  lady  had  seen  her  look  out  of  the  window,  however, 
though  she  had  not  noticed  her  emotion,  and  so  she  hastened 
to  indulge  in  a  little  pleasant  gossip. 

"Yes,  my  dear?  There  are  two  carriages,  now,  at  half- 
past  eleven,  but  at  half-past  three  I  guess  there  will  be  as 
many  hundred.  There  is  to  be  a  wedding  at  St.  Basil's 
Church  at  noon,  and  a  grand  wedding  reception  at  the 
Vansitart  mansion  in  the  afternoon.  Of  course,  you  have 
read  all  this  announced  in  the  newspapers." 

"No,"  breathed  Jennie,  in  a  scarcely  audible  tone,  not 
daring  to  look  up,  yet  longing  to  hear  more,  as  she  toyed 
with  her  baby's  dress. 

"No?  But,  oh,  of  course,  I  forgot!  You  hardly  ever 
care  to  look  at  a  newspaper.  Well,  my  dear,  it  is  a  right 
pretty  little  romance  in  real  life,  that  wedding !  The  bride, 
Miss  Leegh — Miss  Lamia  Leegh — was  the  belle  of  the  me- 
tropolis last  spring,  as  she  was  the  belle  of  Newport  this  last 
summer.  She  is  a  most  beautiful  blond  woman  of  the  Juno 
type,  besides  being  a  lady  of  noble  birth,  though  of  fallen 
fortunes,  a  protegee  of  Mrs.  Vansitart's,  who  took  her  up 
and  brought  her  out.  Do  you  care  to  hear  about  tbis,  Jen- 
nie, dear?"  inquired  Mrs.  Duncan,  seeing  that  the  young 
woman  never  raised  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  am — I  am — listening,"  said  Jennie,  ear- 
nestly, though  falteringly. 

The  lady  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl,  in  some  doubt, 
as  she  continued : 

"The  story  of  the  bridegroom  is  even  more  romantic.  His 
name  is  Randolph  Hay ' 

Jennie  started,  but  quickly  recovered  herself. 

"He  was  a  Calif ornian  miner,  born  and  bred  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  living  and  working  in  the  mines  for  years." 

Jennie  suddenly  looked  up  with  a  new  light  in  her  eyes. 

"All  this  time  he  knew  that  he  was  the  grandson  of  a 
wealthy  Yorkshire  squire,  but  he  never  dreamed  of  ever  be- 
coming the  heir,  as  there  were  two  good  lives  between  him 
and  the  estate;  and,  though  his  own  father  was  dead,  his 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  341 

grandfather  and  uncle  were  living,  and  likely  to  live.  All ! 
you  are  interested  now!" 

"Yes,  yes!"  eagerly  exclaimed  Jennie. 

"Well,  one  day,  while  working  in  the  mines  at  Grizzly 
Gulch,  or  some  such  ghastly  place,  he  saw  in  the  newspaper 
that  was  brought  every  week  by  the  expressman  from  the 
city,  an  advertisement  calling  for  the  next  of  kin,  or  heir-a1> 
law,  of  the  late  Squire  Hay,  of  Haymore.  He  knew  that  he 
himself  was  the  next  of  kin,  and  the  heir-at-law,  for  he  had 
then  heard  of  the  death,  unmarried,  of  the  uncle  who  stood 
between  himself  and  the  inheritance.  He  lost  no  time 
in  communicating  with  the  advertising  firm  of  attorneys, 
and  following  up  his  letter  by  a  rapid  journey  from  San 
Francisco,  and  a  call  on  the  lawyers.  His  claims,  being 
sustained  by  unquestionable  evidence,  were  admitted  after 
the  usual  law's  delays.  He  went  to  England  to  take  pos- 
session of  his  estates,  and  returned  to  marry  Miss  Lamia 
Leegh.  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  romance  in  real 
life?" 

"Then  the  newsboy  told  me  a  willful  falsehood — unless 
he  himself  had  been  misinformed,"  murmured  Jennie, 
speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  her  companions. 

"What  newsboy,  my  dear?  What  do  you  mean?"  in- 
quired the  surprised  lady. 

Jennie  recovered  herself,  and  replied : 

"Oh!  a  talkative  little  fellow  that  I  met  one  day,  who 
told  me  that  the  young  lady,  Miss  Leegh,  who  lived  with  the 
Peter  Vansitarts,  was  going  to  marry  a  'great  English 
swell/  whose  name  I  afterward  heard  was  Jeremiah  John- 
son !" 

"What  an  idea !  I  do  not  believe  that  the  fair,  esthetic, 
poetic  Lamia  would  have  married  a  millionaire,  or  a  bil- 
lionaire, or  even  a  trillionaire,  if  his  dreadful  name  had 
been  Jeremiah  Johnson." 

"I  see  it  was  a  mistake,  or  a  fabrication,"  said  Jennie, 
feeling  infinitely  relieved. 

"And,  by  the  way,  my  dear,  I  saw  it  announced  in  this 
morning's  Trumpeter  that  the  bridal  pair  will  sail  for 
Europe  by  the  Scorpio;  so  you  will  have  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph Hay  for  fellow  passengers." 

"Shall  I?     Oh!  I  shall  like  that!"  exclaimed  Jennie, 


342  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

without  a  suspicion  as  to  the  identity  of  the  bridegroom 
with  her  own  recreant  husband. 

While  they  conversed  the  carriage  turned  into  the  park. 

They  made  the  circuit  of  the  beautiful  grounds,  and  then 
returned  home  to  lunch. 

Afterward,  about  four  o'clock,  Mrs.  Duncan  said  to 
her  protegee: 

"I  would  willingly  keep  you  here,  my  dear  child,  to  the 
very  last  minute,  but  the  last  two  hours  before  a  ship  sails 
for  Europe  is  so  full  of  confusion  on  deck  that  there  is  no 
comfort  in  it.  If  we  go  on  board  three  hours  before  the 
sailing  we  shall  find  comparative  quiet.  Now,  I  propose 
to  take  you  down  to  the  Scorpio  at  once,  and  take  the  girls 
with  me.  Then  we  can  view  your  stateroom,  and  see  if  you 
will  be  comfortable;  and  we  may  stay  there  with  you  until 
the  steamer  shall  be  about  to  sail ;  then  we  will  have  to  get 
off.  How  will  you  like  that  ?" 

"Oh,  very  much!  There  will  be  no  haste — no  fear  of 
being  too  late.  It  will  be  safest,"  replied  Jennie. 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door;  Jennie  was  in  her  navy- 
blue  sea  suit;  and  the  hand  bags  and  baskets  had  been 
packed  and  put  under  the  seats.  Ten  minutes  later  the 
party,  consisting  of  Mrs.  Duncan,  her  two  little  girls, 
Jennie  and  the  baby,  were  on  their  way  to  the  steamer. 

Again  they  passed  the  Vansitart  mansion,  where  the 
long  line  of  carriages  extended  up  and  down  the  sides  of 
the  streets,  and  even  into  the  cross  streets. 

"The  grand  wedding  reception  is  at  its  height.  I  am 
glad  I  am  not  there !  I  did  my  duty,  however.  I  sent  a 
'regret,'  and  a  present.  I  suppose  the  bride  and  groom  will 
not  leave  before  six,  and  the  ship  sails  at  seven.  It  will  be 
a  'close  shave,'  as  the  men  say,"  remarked  Mrs.  Duncan,  as 
they  passed  the  house. 

Jennie  looked  out  at  the  crowd  of  carriages,  but  made  no 
reply.  Had  she  no  suspicion  now  that  the  gay  and  happy 
bridegroom  was  Kightly  Montgomery,  alias  Jeremiah 
Johnson,  though  she  had  been  told  by  Mrs.  Duncan,  surely 
a  better  authority  than  the  newsboy,  that  he  was  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph Hay,  formerly  of  California? 

Half  an  hour's  fast  drive  brought  them  to  the  steamer. 
Neither  pier  nor  ship  was  so  crowded  as  they  would  be  two 
hours  later. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HEK?  343 

The  whole  party  left  the  carriage,  Mrs.  Duncan  told  the 
coachman  to  wait,  and  then  she  led  her  little  company 
across  the  gangplank. 

The  deck  of  an  outward-bound  steamer  laying  alongside 
her  pier  on  the  day  of  sailing  is  not  a  pleasant  place  to 
linger;  so  Mrs.  Duncan  led  her  party  into  the  first  cabin, 
showed  Jennie's  ticket,  and  asked  to  be  shown  into  state- 
room thirty-three. 

It  was  one  of  the  best  rooms,  as  has  been  already  said. 
It  contained  two  berths,  a  narrow  upper  one  and  a  broad 
lower  one,  and  also  a  broad  sofa.  It  might  have  accommo- 
dated three  persons,  yet  Jennie  had  it  all  to  herself. 

She  had  never  seen  a  first-class  stateroom  before,  and  so 
she  admired  this  one  with  childish  delight — its  snowy 
berths,  its  luxurious  sofa,  upholstered  to  match,  its  elegant 
toilet  arrangements  of  marble  and  silver. 

"All  the  comforts  and  luxuries  and  elegancies  of  life,  in 
a  nutshell,  dear  Mrs.  Duncan,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  think  you  will  be  well  off  here,"  replied 
the  lady,  as  she  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  signed  for 
Jennie  to  sit  down  beside  her. 

The  two  little  girls  amused  themselves  by  unpacking  the 
bags  and  baskets,  and  arranging  their  contents  in  the  deep 
drawers  under  the  lower  berth. 

Crowds  of  people  soon  began  to  pour  in  upon  the  steamer. 
The  Duncans  remained  in  the  stateroom  with  the  young 
mother  and  child,  until  a  quarter  to  seven,  when  the  order 
was  shouted  out,  for  all  persons  who  were  not  going  on  the 
voyage  to  return  to  the  shore. 

Then  Mrs.  Duncan  and  her  girls  took  a  tender  leave 
of  Jennie  and  the  baby. 

"Do  you  remain  in  your  room  here,  my  dear,  until  the 
ship's  well  under  way.  In  that  manner  you  will  escape  all 
the  confusion  on  deck,"  said  the  lady,  as  she  kissed  her 
protegee  a  final  good-by. 

Jennie  tried  once  more  to  speak  her  thanks,  but  her  voice 
was  choked  with  tears. 

Mrs.  Duncan  dared  not  linger  to  kiss  or  to  wipe  them 
away,  for  the  order : 

"All  ashore !"  was  peremptory.  So  she  hurried,  with  her 
children,  to  the  deck  to  join  the  crowd  that  was  pouring 
across  the  gangplank. 


344  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  farewell  gun  was  fired,  and  the 
Scorpio  stood  out  to  sea,  with  more  combustible  agents  in 
her  than  could  be  represented  by  material  fire  and  gun- 
powder— for  in  the  same  cabin,  unsuspected  by  either 
party,  in  room  No.  11  was  Gentleman  Geff  and  his  bride, 
and  in  room  No.  33  Gentleman  Geffs  deserted  wife  and 
child.  Sure  to  meet. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

RAN  COMES 

ON  the  morning  succeeding  the  sailing  of  the  Scorpio, 
with  such  combustible  elements  on  board  as  Gentleman  Geff 
and  his  bride  in  stateroom  No.  11,  and  his  deserted  wife 
and  child  in  stateroom  No.  33,  Ean  reached  New  York  by 
an  early  train,  just  a  few  hours  too  late  to  come  face  to 
face  with  the  impostor. 

Ean  brought  with  him  a  satchel  full  of  documents,  con- 
sisting of  letters  and  certificates,  and  some  corroborative 
evidence  in  the  form  of  seal  rings,  lockets,  miniatures  and 
photographs,  quite  sufficient  to  establish  his  present  iden- 
tity as  Randolph  Hay,  only  son  of  the  late  Cuthbert  Hay, 
grandson  of  the  late  Squire  Hay,  and  heir-at-law  of  the 
Manor  of  Haymore. 

Better  even  than  all  this,  he  brought  in  his  company  the 
venerable  priest,  Pedro  de  Leon,  who  had  performed  the 
ceremony  of  marriage  between  Cuthbert  Hay  and  Maria 
Delia  Rosa,  and  a  year  later  the  rites  of  baptism  of  their 
only  son,  Randolph  Hay. 

The  aged  father  had  known  the  boy  all  his  life,  had  met 
him  every  spring  when  Ran  scrupulously  went  up  to  the 
city  to  "make  his  Easter,"  and  now  felt  so  much  interested 
in  the  young  fellow's  fortunes  that  he  sought  and  obtained 
leave  of  absence  from  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  for  the 
special  purpose  of  accompanying  him  to  New  York,  to  be 
a  witness  in  his  case. 

And  best  of  all,  perhaps,  Ran  bore  upon  his  person  a 
family  peculiarity  inherited  by  all  the  males  of  his  race — 
that  was  on  his  left  hand  the  germ  of  a  little  finger  where 
a  perfect  little  finger  should  have  grown. 

"It  is  well  I  have  the  family  deformity  to  fall  back  on, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  345 

father,  else  it  would  take  a  mighty  mountain  of  evidence  to 
prove  a  little  nigger  as  I  am  to  be  the  descendant  of  a 
fair-haired  Saxon  race;  it  would  be  said  that  I  had  been 
changed  in  my  cradle !"  Kan  had  remarked  to  his  venerable 
friend. 

"But  your  Spanish  mother,  my  son.  would  be  sufficient 
to  account  for  your  dark  complexion,"  gently  suggested  the 
priest. 

"Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  I  have  got  the  stunted  little 
finger  to  speak  for  me,"  laughed  Kan. 

Immediately  on  their  arrival  in  New  York.  Ran  took  his 
aged  friend  to  the  nearest  hotel,  and  engaged  rooms  and 
ordered  breakfast. 

After  they  had  each  taken  a  bath,  changed  the  grimy 
traveling  suit  for  fresh  clothes,  and  partaken  of  breakfast, 
Kan  left  the  priest  to  amuse  himself  in  the  reading  room, 
and  stepped  out  of  the  hotel  to  go  and  deliver  his  "cre- 
dentials." 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  day,  at  an  excellent  hour  for 
making  either  a  business  or  a  social  call,  and  he  had  pass*- 
ports  to  either.  Yet  he  stopped  on  the  sidewalk  and 
hesitated. 

He  had  a  strong  letter  of  recommendation  from  Col. 
Moseley  to  Walling  &  Walling,  and  he  had  a  cordial  note 
of  presentation  from  Mrs.  Moseley  to  her  old  schoolmate 
and  bosom  friend,  Mrs.  Samuel  Walling.  The  time  was 
propitious  for  delivering  either.  The  first  would  take  him 
to  the  attorneys'  office  downtown  amid  all  the  turmoil  of 
traffic.  The  other  would  take  him  uptown  to  the  elegant 
quiet  of  a  drawing-room  in  the  neighborhood  of  Central 
Park. 

But  he  hesitated. 

I  don't  know  whether  you  have  noticed  it,  but  Ran  Hay, 
though  twenty-two  years  of  age,  was  very  much  of  a  boy, 
and  a  very  sensitive  boy  at  that. 

In  his  rough-and-tumble  progress  through  life  he  had 
found  all  the  men  whom  he  had  ever  met — except  three  or 
four — rude,  harsh  and  aggressive:  whereas  all  the  women 
he  had  ever  seen — except,  perhaps,  one  or  two — kind,  gentle 
<md  agreeable. 

Therefore,  now  he  rather  shrank  from  going  directly  to 
the  great  firm  of  Walling  &  Walling,  who  were  such  awfully 


346  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

big  wigs,  who  had  just  successfully  established  his  unknown 
rival  in  the  possession  of  the  Manor  of  Haymore,  and  had 
received  for  that  a  princely  fee,  and  secured  by  that  a 
wealthy  client,  and  who  might  at  the  outset  be  inclined  to 
resent  his  — Ran's — appearance,  with  his  claims,  as  an  un- 
warrantable impertinence,  or  as  an  attempt  to  swindle  or 
to  blackmail,  and  they  might  be  disposed  to  make  war 
upon  him. 

And  though  Ran  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  cause  must 
triumph  in  the  end,  yet  he  shrank  from  the  harshness  and 
bitterness  of  a  possible  conflict. 

So,  after  some  consideration,  he  decided  that  he  would 
let  Col.  Moseley's  letter  of  introduction  to  Walling  & 
Walling  repose  in  his  pocket  for  a  little  while,  and  go  and 
deliver  Mrs.  Moseley's  note  of  presentation  to  Mrs.  Samuel 
Walling,  and  by  that  means  prepare  the  way  for  a  more 
acceptable  interview  with  the  great  firm  of  which  the  last- 
mentioned  lady's  husband  was  the  head. 

To  come  to  this  decision  was  a  great  relief  to  Ran.  He 
did  not  shrink — little  border  ruffian,  as  he  called  himself — 
from  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Samuel  Walling.  She  was  the 
dear  friend  of  lovely  Mrs.  Moseley;  and  the  note  he  bore 
was  a  most  cordial  commendation  of  the  bearer  to  the 
lady's  friendly  consideration. 

When  Ran  had  come  to  this  conclusion  he  suddenly 
bethought  himself  of  something — his  personal  appearance; 
too  little  regarded,  too  much  neglected  heretofore. 

He  re-entered  the  hotel,  ran  upstairs,  entered  his  room, 
and  took  a  look  at  himself  in  the  glass. 

Had  Ran  Hay  been  a  vain  youth  he  must  have  been 
gratified  by  the  reflection  there,  for  it  was  that  of  a  face 
and  form  of  rare,  dark,  lich  Castilian  beauty.  As  it  was,  he 
was  but  half  satisfied;  he  passed  his  brush  two  or  three 
times  through  his  short,  curled,  black  hair,  which  had  not 
had  time,  since  his  head  had  been  shaved  clean,  to  grow  to 
its  usual  length,  and  then  he  turned  from  the  mirrow, 
muttering : 

"I  suppose  I  am  all  right;  but  I  do  look  like  a  little 
nigger,  for  all  that !" 

Then  he  hurried  downstairs  and  out  on  the  sidewalk 
again.  He  inquired  of  a  policeman  what  car  or  stage  he 
should  take  to  reach  Mr.  Samuel  Waiting's  on  Sixty-fourth 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  347 

Street,  and,  having  received  instructions,  walked  a  block, 
boarded  a  Fourth  Avenue  car,  and  started  uptown. 

That  morning  Mrs.  Samuel  Walling  sat  in  her  elegantly 
appointed  boudoir,  chatting  with  some  intimate  lady 
friends. 

Augusta  Walling  was  a  stylish  rather  than  a  beautiful 
woman.  Her  manner  was  commanding  rather  than  grace- 
ful. She  was  a  tall  and  finely  formed  brunette,  with  an 
abundance  of  straight,  black  hair,  without  crimp  or  curl, 
parted  evenly  over  a  massive  forehead,  and  plaited  and 
wound  in  a  natural  crown  for  the  top  of  her  head,  with  a 
rich,  brown  complexion  glowing  into  a  dark  crimson  on 
cheeks  and  lips,  and  with  fine,  expressive  features,  the  most 
remarkable  among  which  were  her  strong  black  eyes. 

Indeed,  the  first  thing  that  would  strike  a  stranger  in 
her  presence,  would  be  those  fine  black  eyes ;  the  last  thing 
he  would  remember  of  her  would  be  those  splendid  black 
eyes;  and  that  which  any  delinquent  in  her  household  would 
most  fear  to  meet  would  be  those  terrible  black  eyes. 

She  was  a  power  in  her  family,  and  some  said  she  was  a 
power  in  her  husband's  firm.  But  that  was  mere  gossip. 

She  was  never  sick,  never  tired  and  never  stooped  to  the 
careless  ease  of  a  robe  or  a  wrapper.  Although  this  was  the 
forenoon  of  the  day,  and  she  was  sitting  in  her  morning 
room,  in  the  midst  of  her  own  most  intimate  friends,  she 
wore  an  uncompromising  suit  of  maroon  cashmere,  with 
linen  cuffs  and  collar — a  suit  that  would  have  done  to  go 
shopping  in. 

She  was  seated  in  an  armchair  upholstered  in  dark-blue 
satin ;  and  she  was  holding  forth  on  the  subject  of  the 
grand  Hay-Leegh  wedding  at  Vansitarts',  to  her  group  of 
cronies  who  were  posed  about  her. 

"Yes,  I  was  there,  although  you  did  not  see  me.  Why, 
even  I  did  not  see  either  of  you.  Who  could  see  whom  in 
such  a  jam  ?  I  declare  that  such  occasions  make  me  think 
that  the  human  race  is  nothing  more  than  a  skin  disease  of 
the  planet  earth,  and  such  crowds  as  that  of  yesterday 
unpleasant  pustules." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Walling!"  cried  little  Kitty  Carben  in  horror. 
"But  you  went !" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  went.  I  didn't  want  to  go,  for  I  don't  like 
the  man  or  woman,  and  I  would  rather  have  been  tortured 


348  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

and  humiliated  in  some  other  way,  if  it  would  have 
answered  the  same  purpose ;  but  you  know  Mr.  Vansitart  is 
a  client  of  Walling  &  Walling — in  point  of  fact,  Sam  has 
done  all  his  law  business  for  years;  and  besides  that,  old 
Peter  recommends  him  everywhere,  and  throws  a  great  deal 
of  business  into  the  firm;  so  it  would  not  do  to  displease 
the  Vansitarts ;  and  I  went,  and  I  sent  a  wedding  present 
in  advance." 

"But  I  thought  Walling  &  Walling  were  quite  over- 
whelmed and  buried  under  tons  of  briefs,"  put  in  Mrs.  Dal- 
rymple,  another  of  the  callers. 

"So  they  are — Sam  especially ;  he  is  killing  himself ;  but, 
my  dear,  did  you  ever,  in  all  the  days  of  your  life,  hear  of 
a  professional  man  who  ever  cried,  'Hold !  Enough !'  when 
business  was  pouring  in?  Walling  &  Walling  do  not, 
though  the  burden  falls  on  Sam.  Will  takes  better  care  of 
himself — goes  off  for  a  holiday,  now  and  then,  and  leaves 
the  business  to  Sam.  If  Sam  says  a  word  of  objection,  Will 
talks  of  'brain  exhaustion/  which  is  the  joke  of  jokes ;  poor 
Will  having  no  brain  to  exhaust." 

"But  tell  me  about  the  wedding  present,  dear  Mrs.  Wall- 
ing. I  didn't  see  yours,  though,  of  course,  there  were  so 
many  that  I  could  not  examine  a  tenth  of  the  lot,"  said 
little  Kitty. 

"  You  would  not  have  been  likely  to  see  mine.  It  did  not 
flash  and  sparkle  like  jewels,  or  glow  in  dull,  smoldering 
colors  like  the  India  shawls/' 

"What  sort  of  a  present  was  it,  then,  dear  Mrs.  Walling?" 

"To  describe  it  in  one  word,  it  was  a  spiteful  present,  my 
little  angel." 

"A  spiteful  present !    Oh,  Mrs.  Walling !" 

"Yes,  dear,  just  that.  You  see,  little  kitten,  I  didn't  like 
the  bride  or  bridegroom.  Yet  'business'  compelled  me  to 
go  to  the  wedding;  custom  compelled  me  to  send  a  gift; 
self-respect  obliged  me  to  make  it  an  expensive  one:  and 
malice  instigated  me  to  make  it  one  that,  however  costly, 
should  be  neither  useful  nor  ornamental,  nor  in  any  way 
delightful  to  the  newly  married  pair." 

"Goodness  gracious  me  alive !  What  did  you  give  them, 
Mrs.  Walling?" 

"A  complete  set  of  the  Grecian  and  the  Koman  classics 
in  the  original,  bound  in  dull  brown  vellum,  with  dull 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  349 

brown  edged  leaves.  And  neither  of  the  pair  can  read  a 
word  of  Greek  or  Latin.  Fancy  their  feelings!  Yet,  yo*~ 
see,  no  one  can  criticise  the  gift." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Walling !    But  why  don't  you  like  the  Hays?" 
"Because  I  do  not  and  cannot  trust  them." 
"But  the  Vansitarts  think  so  much  of  them !" 
"Oh,  yes,  I  know.     Their  eyes  are  'holden,'  I  suppose. 
So  does  Will.    He  is  quite  infatuated  with  both  of  them. 
But,  then,  Will,  you  know,  has  not  a  ray  of  spiritual  insight. 
Really  and  truly,  now,  not  as  much  as  my  little  Scotch 
terrier,  Crab — named  after  Lance's  dog.     When  the  two 
called  here  last  week,  Crab  utterly  refused  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  either  of  them,  although  I  myself  introduced 
them  to  him  as  my  very  particular  friends — which  they 
were  not,  by  a  very  long  distance.    My  little  dog  knew  I  was 
lying.    He  as  much  as  told  me  so.    I  was  ashamed  to  look 
him  in  the  face  afterward.    But  as  for  Will,  when  he  gets 

on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Randolph  Ha " 

An  interruption  came  just  here. 
A  servant  entered  with  a  letter  and  card  on  a  salver. 
The  lady  left  her  sentence  unfinished,  and  took  both. 
She  looked  at  the  letter  first,  and  her  big,  black  eyes 
grew  bigger  and  bigger  every  instant;  for  the  letter  was 
superscribed  in  the  handwriting  of    her    dearest    friend, 
Mrs.  Moseley,  and  was  marked:  "To  present  Mr.  Randolph 
Hay." 

Still  staring  at  the  letter,  she  lifted  the  card  from  her 
lap,  and  presently  glanced  at  it. 

ME.  RANDOLPH  HAY, 
San  Francisco. 

"Am  I  dreaming,  or — going  crazy.  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  is 
a  day  out  on  his  voyage  to  Europe;  and  even  if  he  were 
here,  he  would  not  need  a  letter  of  introduction  to  me,  and 
from  my  old  friend  in  California.  What  does  it  mean,  any- 
how ?"  she  inquired  of  herself ;  and  instead  of  reading  the 
letter,  which  would  have  explained  everything,  she  sat 
gazing  stupidly  at  it  like  one  in  a  dream  or  a  mesmeric 
trance,  until  Mrs.  Dalrymple  spoke  to  her 

"What  is  the  matter,  Augusta?  You  look  surprised,  dis- 
tressed even.  I  hope  there  is  no  bad  news,"  she  said. 


350  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Mrs.  Walling  turnew  slowly  around  toward  the  speaker, 
and  put  the  letter  in  her  hand,  saying : 

"There,  Pauline !  Eead  the  superscription  of  that  letter, 
will  you  ?  Eead  it  aloud,  so  that  my  ears  may  either  con- 
tradict or  corroborate  the  evidence  of  my  eyes." 

Mrs.  Dalrymple,  wondering,  took  the  letter,  and  read 
aloud : 

"  'Mrs.  Samuel  Walling.  To  present  Mr.  Randolph 
Hay ;'  "  and  then  looked  up  in  silent  perplexity  to  the  dazed 
face  of  her  hostess. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  read,  and  what  I  cannot  explain. 
Mr.  Randolph  Hay  and  his  bride  took  leave  of  us  all  yes- 
terday, as  we  all  know,  and  sailed  on  the  Scorpio  for  Liver- 
pool," said  Mrs.  Walling,  in  answer  to  that  silent  inquiry. 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ?"  inquired  Kitty  Carben,  speaking 
for  all  her  companions,  who  began  to  gather  around  Mrs. 
Walling's  chair. 

"It  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  girls,"  answered  the  lady. 

"Suppose  you  read  Mrs.  Moseley's  letter;  that  must  cer- 
tainly explain  the  mystery,"  suggested  Mrs.  Dalryrnple,  re- 
turning the  missive. 

Mrs.  Walling  took  it  in  silence,  opened  it,  examined  it, 
and  then  read  aloud : 

"FORT  BLACK  HEATH,  September  — ,  18 — . 

"DEAREST  AUGUSTA:  Your  delightful  letter  came  this 
morning,  and  shall  be  answered  by  a  very  long  one  in  a  day 
or  two. 

"This  is  written  only  to  engage  your  interest  in  the  dear 
young  friend  who  will  bring  it  to  you. 

"He  is  Mr.  Randolph  Hay,  grandson  of  the  late  Squire 
John  Haywood  Hay,  and  heir-at-law  of  the  Manor  of  Hay- 
more;  and  this,  notwithstanding  the  existence  of  the  Mr. 
'Randolph  Hay/  whom  Walling  &  Walling  have  helped  to 
put  in  possession  of  the  estate. 

"Our  esteemed  young  friend  brings  a  letter  from  Col. 
Moseley  to  Mr.  Samuel  Walling,  fully  explaining  the  solid 
ground  on  which  Ms  claim  to  Haymore  is  founded.  He 
also  brings  abundant  documentary  proof.  So  I  will  not 
enter  into  particulars;  but  only  add  that  I  also  am  a  very 
strong  witness  on  his  side.  I  was  well  acquainted  with  his 
maternal  grandfather,  Don  Jose  de  la  Rosa,  and  was  very 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  351 

intimate  with  his  mother,  Marie  Anmmciatta.  I  was  her 
bridesmaid  when  she  married  Prof.  Cuthbert  Hay,  second 
son  of  Squire  Hay,  of  Haymore,  and  at  that  time  holding 
the  chair  of  languages  in  the  College  of  St.  Aloyisius.  I 
knew  their  only  child,  Randolph,  from  the  hour  of  his  birth 
to  the  time  of  his  seventh  year,  when  he  lost  his  grandfather 
and  then  his  mother  by  malignant  fever,  and  was  carried 
away  from  the  city  by  his  bereaved  and  broken-hearted 
father. 

"I  did  not  see  Randolph  Hay  again  for  many  years. 
When  next  I  saw  him,  he  was  on  a  cot  in  the  surgical  ward 
of  our  fort  hospital,  where  he  had  been  brought  a  perfect 
stranger,  almost  fatally  wounded,  profoundly  unconscious, 
and  with  nothing  about  him  to  give  a  clew  to  his  identity. 

"Yet  I  recognized  him  on  sight — first  by  his  wonderful 
likeness  to  his  beautiful  mother,  and  then  by  a  slight  de- 
formity in  the  little  finger  on  his  left  hand,  which  had  been 
his  from  birth  and  which  is  said  to  be  a  sort  of  heirloom  of 
the  Hays. 

"I,  at  least,  had  nothing  new  to  learn  when,  on  recover- 
ing his  consciousness,  he  gave  his  name  as  Randolph  Hay. 

"He  will  tell  you  his  story  and  show  you  his  proofs.  "So 
I  need  write  no  more  now  but  just  this :  that  every  day  of 
our  association  with  him  during  his  long  illness  and  tedious 
convalescence  has  confirmed  and  strengthened  the  good 
opinion  we  conceived  of  him  from  the  first. 

"I  ask  your  kind  offices  for  him,  as  I  would  ask  them  for 
one  of  my  own  children,  and  I  shall  be  as  grateful  for  at- 
tentions bestowed  on  him  as  for  kindness  shown  myself. 

"Wait  for  a  long  letter  from  me,  and  in  the  meantime, 
believe  me,  as  ever,  dearest  Augusta,  your  devoted  friend, 

"DOLLY." 

Mrs.  Moseley's  letter  fell  from  the  hand  of  the  reader. 
Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  during  its  perusal,  and  at  the 
close  Augusta  Walling  and  her  friends  still  looked  at  each 
other  in  silent  perplexity. 

"Now,  then  !  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Walling,  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

No  one  answered  promptly,  so  she  continued : 

"This  discovery  only  confirms  my  opinion  of  the  fellow 
who  calls  himself  Randolph  Hay,"  she  said. 


C52  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Which  fellow?  There  seem  to  be  two  fellows  who  call 
themselves  Randolph  Hay,"  said  a  flippant  young  woman 
who  had  not  spoken  before. 

"The  man  who  has  just  married  the  woman  Leegh,  of 
course,"  retorted  Mrs.  Walling,  uncompromisingly.  "Xo 
one  can  doubt  that  the  young  gentleman  who  comes  here 
indorsed  by  Col.  and  Mrs.  Moseley  is  the  real  -Simon  Pure.' 
They  are  likely  to  know  what  they  are  writing  about !  Now, 
my  dears,  I  must  go  down  and  see  Mr.  Hay.  He  has  been 
kept  waiting  long  enough.  Will  you  eome  with  me  to  the 
drawing  room  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  dear  Mrs.  Walling !  We  are  all  going  to  the 
matinee  of  'Richelieu/  Have  a  private  box  engaged,  and 
really  I  am  afraid  we  shall  be  late,"  said  Mrs.  Dalrymple, 
speaking  for  the  rest  and  rising  from  her  chair. 

Mrs.  Walling  was  rather  relieved  than  otherwise  to  find 
that  her  callers  were  going  just  now ;  so  she  received  their 
adieus  very  graciously. 

We  are  all  apt  to  form  a  mental  image  of  an  individual 
in  whom  we  may  be  deeply  interested,  yet  whom  we  have 
never  seen  either  in  person  or  in  picture,  nor  ever  heard 
described. 

Mrs.  Walling  went  downstairs  with  the  preconceived  idea 
that  she  should  behold  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  grand-look- 
ing man  of  the  Castilian  Spanish  type. 

She  entered  the  drawing-room  and  found  a  slight,  grace- 
ful, dark-haired,  dark-eyed  youth  seemingly  about  eighteen, 
though  really  several  years  older.  She  was  impressed  by 
the  grace  with  which  he  arose  and  came  to  meet  her,  and 
the  deference  with  which  he  stood  while  she  addressed  him. 

"Mr.  Randolph  Hay  ?"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand  and  bowing 
over  it.  And  the  lady  was  pleased  with  the  sweetness  of  his 
voice. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hay.  You  come  from 
the  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  outside  of  my  own 
family,"  she  said. 

Ran  bowed  deferentially. 

"You  left  her  well  and  happy?"  she  continued. 

"Very  well  and  very  happy,  madam." 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  it ;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  it. 
Come  now,  Mr.  Hay,  let  us  sit  down  and  have  a  good  talk. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  353 

I  am  very  much  pleased  to  be  acquainted  with  you,  and  feel 
deeply  interested  in  your  case/'  she  continued,  as  she  led 
the  way  to  a  group  of  luxurious  armchairs  near  a  bright 
little  wood  fire  in  an  open  fireplace,  which  was  the  effect  of 
one  of  Augusta  Walling^  eccentricities. 

She  took  one  chair,  and  her  visitor  sank  into'another. 

She  noticed  the  ease  and  grace  of  his  movement  and 
attitude. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Walling  and  presented  your  letter  ?" 
she  inquired. 

"No,  madam.  I  have  but  just  reached  the  city  this  morn- 
ing, and  came  straight  from  the  hotel  here,"  he  answered. 

Mrs.  Walling  looked  at  him,  and  immediately  divined  the 
reason  why  the  young  man  had  come  first  to  her,  so  she 
answered,  brightly : 

"Thank  you  for  giving  me  the  preference,  or  the  prece- 
dence. My  friend  writes  that  you  will  tell  me  your  story 
and  explain  your  case.  If  you  are  at  leisure  and  are  not 
too  much  fatigued  by  your  journey,  perhaps  you  had  better 
do  so  now." 

"I  should  be  grateful  for  a  hearing,  madam,  if  it  would 
not  be  trespassing  on  your  time." 

"My  time  is  not  valuable,  young  sir." 

"Or  boring  you." 

"Not  at  all.  I  told  you  that  I  was  interested  in  your 
case.  I  assure  you  that  I  am,"  earnestly  answered  the  lady. 

So  encouraged,  Ean  "opened  his  mouth  and  spake." 
With  the  unconscious  egotism  of  youth,  he  told  his  story 
from  the  beginning  to  that  hour,  when  he  sat  by  Mrs.  Wall- 
ing's  fireside. 

She  not  only  listened  attentively,  but  spurred  him  on  by 
occasional  comments,  and  even  questions,  until  he  had  told 
her  all  he  had  to  tell. 

She  remained  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  she  said : 

"Do  you  know  that  I  suspect  that  man,  Delamere,  of 
having  robbed  you?" 

"Oh,  madam !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  deprecating  tone. 

"Well,  I  do.  When  a  stranger  appears  in  such  s.  place 
as  a  mining  camp,  and  earns  for  himself,  merely  by  his  ap- 
pearance, the  nickname  of  Gentleman  Geff,  or  Gentleman 
Anybody,  you  may  set  him  down  as  an  adventurer;  and 


354  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

when  that  same  'gentleman'  offers  to  hear  you  company 
in  a  fatiguing  tramp  of  sixty  or  eighty  miles  through  the 
wilderness,  you  having  valuable  property  ahout  your  person, 
you  may  set  him  down  as  a  dangerous  adventurer;  and 
when  he  tramps  with  you  until  the  dead  of  night,  when  you 
find  yourself  in  a  narrow  path  through  the  deep  forest,  you 
walking  a  little  ahead  of  him;  and  when  you  are  suddenly 
shot  by  an  invisible  hand  and  robbed — you  may  set  him 
down  as  a  highway  robber  and  a  would-be  murderer." 

"Oh,  my  dear  madam !  But  Delamere's  body  was  after- 
ward found,  and  it  was  supposed  that  he  had  been  murdered 
by  the  same  unknown  party  of  marauders  who  robbed  me 
and  left  me  for  dead." 

"If  your  'Gentleman  GefF  were  murdered  at  all,  it  was 
after  he  had  shot  and  despoiled  you.  But  the  probability  is 
that  he  was  not.  The  skeleton  found  and  supposed  to  be 
his  from  mere  circumstantial  evidence  is  no  positive  proof 
of  his  death.  My  private  opinion  is  that  Gentleman  Geff 
is  alive  and  is  now  on  his  way  to  Europe,"  said  the  lady, 
with  peculiar  earnestness. 

"Oh,  madam  !  madam  !  You  give  life  to  a  suspicion  that 
has  lain  dormant  in  my  own  mind  ever  since  I  recovered 
consciousness  in  the  hospital  of  the  fort ;  a  suspicion  that  I 
have  never  breathed  to  anyone;  a  suspicion  that  1  have  con- 
stantly suppressed  as  being  cruelly  unjust  to  a  fellow  man. 
I  am  very  unhappy  in  entertaining  it,"  said  Ran,  with  a 
profound  sigh. 

"Now  I  will  speak  still  more  plainly.  I  believe  that 
when,  upon  the  night  before  your  tramp  through  the  woods, 
you  told  this  stranger  your  story,  and  explained  the  object 
of  your  journey,  and  capped  the  climax  of  your  imprudence 
by  saying  that  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  documentary 
proof,  supported  by  personal  testimony,  to  establish  the 
identity  of  'a  little  darky*  like  yoursef  as  the  next  of  kin 
to  the  fair-haired  race  of  Hays  and  heir-at-law  of  Haymore, 
and  remarked  that  Delamere  would  be  a  much  more  likely 
claimant,  by  virtue  of  his  tall,  fair  person,  that  jest  nearly 
cost  you  your  life,  for  I  think  that  at  that  moment  the  devil 
entered  into  Gentleman  Geff,  and  instigated  him  to  rob  you 
of  your  life,  your  documents  and  your  inheritance." 

"Oh,  my  dear  lady;  that  was  the  occasional,  half-recog- 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  355 

nized  suspicion  that  I  always  repelled  as  a  suggestion  of  the 
evil  one,"  breathed  Ran,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"But  when  you  heard  that  there  was  another  Randolph 
Hay,  who  had  stepped  into  your  inheritance?" 

"I  never  connected  that  fact  with  the  existence  of  Gentle- 
man Geff,  for,  you  see,  Randolph  is  an  old  family  name, 
and  I  thought  this  man  was  some  relative  whose  claim  had 
been  admitted,  in  default  of  nearer  and  better  ones.  Be- 
sides, I  believed  that  the  body  of  Delamere  lay  in  the  ceme- 
tery of  the  fort." 

"Yet  at  the  bottom  of  all  your  knowledge  of  facts,  or 
supposed  facts,  lay  this  troublesome,  irrepressible  sus- 
picion ?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  Ran,  slowly  and  thoughtfully. 
"But— the— what  shall  I  call  it?— the  doubt,  the  feeling, 
the  impression,  was  scarcely  perceptible  as  a  suspicion,  for 
I  would  not  let  it  rise  to  that.  I  always  repressed  it." 

"Well,  but  now  that  you  have  recognized  this  suspicion 
— in  which  I  very  largely  share — the  very  best  thing  we 
can  do  at  present  is  to  verify  or  disprove  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Walling. 

"But  how?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"Excuse  me,"  replied  the  lady,  as  she  arose  and  went 
to  a  little  front  room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  entrance 
hall,  that  was  used  by  her  husband  as  his  home  office. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

DISCOVERY 

MRS,  WALLING  presently  reappeared,  bringing  in  her 
hands  a  book.  She  sat  down  and  opened  it,  saying: 

"Mr.  Walling  has  a  set  of  photographic  albums,  which 
he  calls  his  clients'  gallery,  as  they  are  devoted  to  the  col- 
lection of  pictures  of  those  who  have  intrusted  their  law 
business  to  him.  He  gets  a  new  volume  every  year.  This 
is  the  last  one.  Now  I  want  you  to  take  it  and  look  it 
over." 

Ran  took  the  book,  and  began  to  turn  the  leaves. 

Mrs.  Walling  watched  him. 


356  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

Suddenly  he  started,  stared  until  his  black  eyes  showed 
a  rim  of  white  all  around  the  iris,  and  then  grew  very 
pale. 

"Well?  What  is  the  matter ?  Do  you  see  any  face  there 
that  you  ever  saw  before?"  inquired  Mrs.  Walling. 

"Whose  is  this  picture?"  he  suddenly  demanded,  laying 
his  finger  on  one  of  the  last  photographs  that  had  been 
slipped  into  the  book. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  it  to  be?"  demanded  the  lady,  in 
her  turn. 

Ean  Hay  looked  bloodless  and  breathless  as  the  dying 
when  he  gasped  forth: 

"Gentleman  Geff!    Mr.  Geoffrey  Delamere!" 

"Alias  Mr.  Eandolph  Hay,  of  Haymore !  The  man  who 
shot  you  down  from  behind — who  left  you  for  dead,  to  be 
devoured  by  the  wolves  of  the  wilderness !  The  man  who 
robbed  you  of  all  your  documents,  and  then  came  on  here, 
and  went  to  England,  and  through  those  documents  robbed 
you  of  your  inheritance !  The  man  who,  yesterday  noon, 
married  the  most  elegant  woman  in  society,  and  who,  yes- 
terday afternoon,  sailed  with  her  for  Europe  on  their  wed- 
ding tour !  I  wonder  what  my  husband  will  say  when  he 
finds  it  out !" 

Ran  did  not  answer.  After  his  first  exclamation  he  sat 
with  his  beautiful  head  bowed  upon  his  hands  in  shame 
and  grief,  as  if  it  had  been  himself  instead  of  his  trusted 
comrade  who  had  been  detected  in  this  black  crime,  this 
treachery,  this  cruelty. 

"I  wonder  that  your  friends  at  the  fort  never  suspected 
the  truth,"  remarked  Mrs.  Walling. 

Ran  sighed,  but  did  not  reply. 

"But,  then,  I  suppose  they  got  your  story  piecemeal,  as 
you  could  tell  it  in  your  illness — a  little  now  and  a  little 
more  then — and  they  never  put  it  together  and  looked  at  it 
as  a  whole,  as  I  did.  And,  then,  they  had  only  heard  of 
the  second  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  just  before  you  left  them," 
said  the  lady,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  sighed  Ran,  speaking  again,  but  without  raising 
his  bowed  head.  "Yes;  and  I  put  them  off  the  track  of 
suspicion  by  telling  them  that  Randolph  was  a  frequent 
name  in  the  Hay  pedigree.  And  then  there  was  the  sup- 
posed body  of  Delamere  buried  in  the  fort  cemetery." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  357 

"Do  not  distress  yourself  so,  my  young  friend.  There 
is  no  doubt  you  will  dispossess  the  impostor,  and  get  your 
inheritance  without  much  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Walling, 
kindly. 

"It  is  not  that,"  said  Kan,  with  another  profound  sigh; 
"but  I  did  hope  the  claimant  might  have  been  the  son  of 
my  father's  youngest  brother,  and  that  he  had  put  in  an 
appearance  in  good  faith,  being  ignorant  of  my  existence, 
and  my  prior  claim.  If  such  had  really  been  the  case,  I 
should  not  have  dispossessed  my  cousin  entirely,  but  would 
have  divided  my  grandfather's  estate  with  him ;  for  I  never 
did  recognize  the  justice  of  the  law  of  primogeniture.  Such 
division  would  have  been  a  pleasant  duty,  Mrs.  Walling. 
But  instead  of  that,  I  have  to  dispossess  an  imposter,  and 
expose  him  to  the  vengeance  of  the  law — a  most  revolting 
work !» 

As  he  spoke  a  bell  rang. 

Mrs.  Walling  was  glad  of  the  interruption. 

"That  is  for  lunch.  Come  in  with  me,  Mr.  Hay,  and 
take  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  chop,  and  you  will  feel  better," 
said  the  lady,  rising. 

Ran  bowed,  thanked  her,  arose,  and  followed  her  to  the 
dining-room. 

"I  am  alone,  you  see,"  she  said,  as  she  motioned  the 
waiter  to  place  a  chair  for  the  guest.  "Mr.  Walling  takes 
his  lunch  downtown.  Our  only  son  is  at  Harvard>  and 
our  only  daughter  at  Vassar.  I  am  very  glad  of  company, 
Mr.  Hay." 

They  sat  down  to  the  "chop,"  which  meant  various  other 
edibles  and  delicacies. 

During  luncheon  she  said : 

"I  want  you  to  come  and  dine  with  us  tliis  evening. 
Mr.  Walling  will  be  home  then,  and  you  will  have  an  op- 
portunity of  becoming  acquainted  with  him  socially  before 
entering  into  business,  which  will  be  so  much  more  pleas- 
ant, you  know." 

"Thank  you,  dear  madam,  I  should  be  most  happy  to 
avail  myself  of  your  kind  invitation  but  for  my  traveling 
companion  and  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  de  Leon,  who  will  ex- 
pect me  to  dine  with  him,"  replied  Ran. 

"Bring  him  with  you!    Bless  you,  we  entertain  clergy- 


358  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

men  of  all  denominations  here.  We  shall  be  very  glad  to 
see  3rour  friend  with  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Walling. 

Again  Han  Hay  bowed  his  thanks. 

When  luncheon  was  over  he  took  leave  of  his  hostess, 
with  the  renewed  promise  to  return  in  the  evening  and 
bring  Father  Pedro  de  Leon  with  him  to  dinner. 

Kan  knew  that  he  could  promise  this  with  perfect  safety, 
for  his  old  friend  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  men,  and 
would  do  any  reasonable  thing  to  please  any  one. 

Mr.  Walling  came  home  earlier  than  usual  that  after- 
noon. 

When  he  had  taken  off  his  business  coat  and  stretched 
himself  upon  a  broad,  comfortable  lounge  in  the  sitting- 
room  to  take  an  hour's  rest  before  dressing  for  the  evening, 
Mrs.  Walling  came  in,  drew  a  low  chair  to  the  side  of  his 
couch,  sat  down  and  opened  upon  him  in  this  sort : 

"Well,  Sam  Walling!  a  nice  mess  you  have  made  of  it !" 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  inquired  the  weary  lawyer, 
with  a  yawn.  "I  am  sure  I  don't  know !  Didn't  Smith  & 
Bellows  send  the  right  samples  for  the  carpet?  I  stopped 
on  my  way  down  and  told  them  to  send  half  a  dozen  of  the 
very  best,  dark,  with  price-list." 

"Oh,  bother  the  carpet!     It  is  not  about  that!" 

"What  on  earth  is  it  about,  then?  I  am  certain  you 
gave  me  no  other  commission." 

"  It  is  not  about  a  commission,  either !  It  is  a  great  deal 
worse  than  that !  That  failing  to  execute  my  commissions 
is  an  almost  daily  occurrence  with  you,  Sam !  I  am  used 
to  it  and  forgive  you.  But  this " 

"Well,  what  in  thunder  have  I  done,  or  omitted  to  do? 
Tell  me  quick,  and  let's  have  it  over!  I  want  to  go  to 
sleep !" 

"I  don't  think  you'll  go  to  sleep  this  afternoon,  Sara  ! 
I  don't  think  my  news  will  compose  you !"  said  the  lady, 
with  so  much  gravity  that  her  husband  took  his  hands  from 
over  his  head,  turned  around  on  his  side  and  stared  a,i 
her. 

"You  ask  me  what  you  have  done— now  listen » 

"Fm  listening." 

"You  put  an  impostor,  an  adventurer,  a  confidence  man, 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  359 

a  sharper,  a  gambler,  a  blackleg,  a  swindler Are  you 

listening,  Sain?" 

"By  Jove  I  should  think  I  was;" 

"  A  thief,  a  highway  robber,  a  midnight  assassin Do 

you  hear  me?" 

"Great  Sphinx!  I  should  think  I  did!" 

"Into  possession  of  the  Haymore  Manor!" 

The  lawyer  sprang  up  like  a  jumping-jack  and  sat  star- 
ing at  her. 

But  she  was  silent,  marking  the  effect  of  her  words  and 
waiting  for  him  to  speak,  which  at  length  he  did: 

"What,  in  Heaven's  name,  do  you  mean,  Augusta?" 

"I  mean  every  word  which  I  have  said !  And  every  word 
is  true !  The  Eandolph  Hay  whom  you  and  your  corre- 
spondents in  London  have  bowed  and  scraped  into  the  Hay- 
more  estate,  is  no  more  Eandolph  Hay,  squire  of  Haymore, 
than  he  is  Albert  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales !" 

"In  the  devil's  name,  who  is  he,  then?  And  what  on 
earth  should  you  know  about  it  ?"  demanded  the  astounded 
lawyer. 

"  One  question  at  a  time !  'Who  is  he  ?'  A  villain,  with 
a  score  of  aliases — an  assassin,  who  shot  down  the  real  Ean- 
dolph Hay,  in  the  depths  of  a  Western  wilderness,  robbed 
him  of  all  his  money  and  documents,  left  his  body  to  be 
devoured  by  wolves  who  would  conceal  his  crime,  and  came 
on  here  with  the  name  and  claim  and  papers  of  his  victim 
to  take  possession  of  the  Haymore  estate,  believeing  him- 
self to  be  forever  safe  from  detection !" 

"Augusta  Walling,  what  raving  is  this?" 

"No  raving;  wait,  listen.  The  ways  of  retributive  justice 
are  strange !  The  victim  did  not  become  the  prey  of  wild 
beasts.  A  hunter  found  the  body,  believed  it  to  be  dead, 
but  discovered  faint  signs  of  life,  conveyed  it  to  the  near- 
est post,  where  surgical  sid  was  given.  There  the  wound- 
ed man  was  recognized  by  the  colonel's  wife,  my  dear  friend 
Dolly  Moseley,  as  Eandolph  Hay,  whom  she  had  known 
from  his  infancy,  as  she  had  previously  known  his  parents 
and  grandparents." 

"How  have  these  facts — if  they  are  facts — come  to  your 
knowledge?" 

"By  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Eandolph  Hay,  himself,  in 
person,  bearing  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Mrs.  Moseley 


360  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

to  me,  which  he  presented  this  morning.  He  also  brings 
one  from  Col.  Moseley  to  your  firm.  He  is  also  accom- 
panied by  the  Mexican  priest  who  married  his  parents,  bap- 
tized himself,  and  subsequently  buried  his  father  and  his 
mother.  He  has  plenty  of  other  proofs,  overwhelming,  in- 
contestable proofs  of  his  identity  as  the  real  Eandolph  Hay, 
next  of  kin  to  the  deceased  squire,  and  heir-at-law  of  Hay- 
more.  Now,  then,  Sam  Walling!  What  do  you  think  of 
this  ?  Haven't  you  made  a  mess  of  it  ?  And — do  you  feel 
like  going  to  sleep  now?" 

The  lawyer  answered  never  a  word.  He  had  one  hand 
on  his  head,  clutching  his  iron-gray  hair. 

"Don't  do  that!  Don?t!  People  might  say  I  did  it. 
Tell  me  what  you  think  of  all  this  ?"  demanded  his  wife. 

"It  is  astounding  if  true!"  said  the  amazed  lawyer. 

"  'If  true !'  Sam  Walling,  you  know  it  is  true !  You 
know  it !  But,  of  course,  if  you  mean  to  stand  by  the 
villain,  instead  of  taking  the  side  of  justice,  you  are  bound 
not  to  admit  the  truth." 

"When  will  this  young  man  present  his  letter  to  us?" 
demanded  Mr.  Walling,  passing  over  his  wife's  sarcasm. 

"To-morrow,  I  suppose." 

"You  say  he  called  on  you  this  morning  to  present  his 
letter  to  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself.  I  have  invited  him  and 
his  friend,  the  clergyman,  to  dine  with  us,  informally,  this 
evening.  I  thought  by  doing  so  to  give  you  an  opportunity 
of  studying  the  young  man  from  a  social  point  of  view 
before  going  to  business  with  him  to-morrow." 

"That  was  well  thought  of.     I  am  glad  you  did  it." 

"And  now,  Sam,  it  is  really  time  to  dress  for  dinner — 
unless,  dear,  you  would  like  to  lie  down  again,  turn  your 
face  to  the  wall  and  go  to  sleep  ?" 

"Go  to  the  Old  Scratch!  You  know  very  well  that  you 
have  'murdered  sleep'  more  effectually  than  did  conscience 
from  the  brain  of  Duncan's  assassin,"  replied  Sam  Walling, 
as  he  arose  from  his  sofa,  and  passed  on  to  his  dressing- 
room. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  husband  and  the  wife  met  fn  the 
drawing-room  to  await  the  arrival  of  their  guests. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  361 

And  ten  minutes  after,  the  Rev.  Mr.  de  Leon  and  Mr. 
Randolph  Hay  were  announced. 

It  was  Mrs.  Walling  who  went  forward  to  receive  the 
gue&ts. 

Mi.  Hay  made  his  bow  to  the  hostess,  who  said  she  was 
glad  to  see  him  again,  and  then  he  presented  his  friend. 

"The  Rev.  Mr.de  Leon." 

Mrs.  Walling  offered  her  hand  to  the  priest,  and  said  that 
she  thanked  him  very  much  for  coming,  and  was  very  glad 
to  see  him. 

Then  she  conducted  the  two  guests  to  Mr.  Walling,  who 
stood,  smiling,  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  and  pre- 
sented them — age  before  beauty. 

"The  Rev.  Mr.  de  Leon— Mr.  Walling." 

Priest  and  lawyer  bowed  and  shook  hands. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  de  Leon." 

"I  thank  you,  sir.     You  are  very  kind." 

"Mr.  Randolph  Hay— Mr.  Walling." 

Ran  and  the  lawyer  bowed  and  shook  hands. 

"Happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hay." 

"Very  much  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Walling.." 

Then  they  sat  down  for  a  little  while,  and  talked — idi- 
otically as  people  do  talk  under  like  circumstances,  of  the 
weather,  in  its  relations  to  the  present  day,  to  yesterday, 
to  this  time  last  year,  etc.,  until  Mr.  Walling  said : 

"You  are  lately  from  California?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  from  both  guests. 

That  started  new  subjects — California,  climate,  soil, 
products,  mines. 

In  the  midst  of  this  discussion  Mrs.  Walling  found  an. 
opportunity  of  saying,  aside,  to  Ran : 

"No  hint  of  business  to-night,  my  dear  young  friend." 

And  Ran  to  reply: 

"  Of  course  not,  madam ;  not  in  the  midst  of  a  busy  law- 
yer's social  relaxation." 

"I  have  told  Mr.  Walling  all  about  you.  He  is  well 
prepared  to  receive  your  letter  of  introduction  from  Col. 
Moseley  to-morrow." 

"I  thank  you,  madam." 

"No,  sir.  It  remains  to  be  seen  how  much,  or  how  little 
real  benefit  to  mankind  through  the  political  economy  of 


362  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

the  nations,  this  discovery  of  gold  will  eventually  prove." 
the  priest  was  saying  to  the  lawyer,  when  dinner  was  an- 
nounced. 

The  old  priest  then  offered  his  arm  to  the  hostess,  and 
all  went  into  the  dining-room,  and  took  their  places  at  the 
round  table.  There  were  only  four. 

During  dinner,  the  host,  without  appearing  to  do  so, 
watched  his  guests  keenly;  but  without  discovering  any 
sign  that  could  point  them  out  as  men  capable  of  con- 
spiracy. They  passed  the  ordeal  of  the  astute  lawyer's 
scrutiny  without  injury. 

It  had  not  really  been  so  in  the  case  of  Gentleman  Geff. 
Althought  he  had  presented  documents  enough  and 
suborned  testimony  enough  to  compel  the  law  to  place  him 
in  possession  of  Haymore,  there  had  been  all  through  in 
Mr.  Samuel  Waiting's  mind  a  deep,  latent,  unexpressed 
doubt,  suspicion,  almost  conviction,  that  his  claims  had 
been  fraudulent,  though  admitted  by  law. 

Not  on  any  account  would  Mr.  Walling  have  confessed 
this  doubt  even  to  his  most  intimate  friend,  for,  indeed,  he 
had  neither  reason  nor  evidence  to  justify  him. 

When  dinner  was  over  and  the  small  company  adjourned 
to  the  drawing-room,  Ean  found  an  opportunity  of  saying 
to  his  hostess : 

"I  had  an  uncle,  a  younger  brother  of  my  father's,  who 
married  and  came  to  New  York  to  live  and  who  died  here, 
as  I  heard,  and  whose  son  I  supposed  this  false  claimant  to 
be,  before  I  discovered  him  to  be — who  he  is.  About  my 
uncle  I  scarcely  know  anything.  I  heard  that  he  had  died 
very  poor.  I  would  like  to  discover  his  family  if  he  left 
any." 

"The  best  way  to  do  that,  my  dear  young  friend,  would 
be  to  advertise  in  the  personal  column  of  the  Trumpeter/' 
said  Mrs.  Walling. 

After  a  very  pleasant  evening  with  the  Wallings,  the 
two  guests  bade  good-evening  and  went  away. 

CHAPTER  XL 

A  SURPRISE   FOR   CLEVE  AND  PALMA 

IT  was  dusk  when  our  young  pair  reached  the  threshold 
of  their  new  home. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  363 

It  was  a  double,  seven-story  apartment  house  at  York- 
ville.  It  stood  on  a  corner  and  opened  upon  both  streets. 

Cleve  gave  his  right  arm  to  Palma,  while  in  his  left  hand 
he  carried  a  heavy  valise,  and  led  her  up  the  steps  and  into 
a  circular  hall  or  office,  where  the  janitor  was  in  attend- 
ance. Mrs.  Pole  followed  with  a  heavy  bag  in  each  hand. 
Stuart  put  down  his  valise  and  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket, 
which  he  handed  to  the  Cereberus. 

"Yes,  sir,  'Mr.  Stuart/  Fifth  floor,  right-hand  pass- 
age, rear  rooms  suite,"  mumbled  the  man.  And  then  he 
touched  a  bell  that  summoned  the  elevator  up  from  its  mo- 
mentary repose  in  the  regions  below. 

"Fifth  floor!"  was  the  order  given  by  Cereberus  to  the 
elevator  boy  as  our  party  entered  the  machine. 

They  happened  to  be  the  only  passengers,  so  there  was 
no  stopping  on  the  vraj,  and  in  a  few  seconds  they  were 
"landed"  on  a  long,  narrow  passage  that  seemed  to  run 
from  front  to  back,  and  to  be  crossed  by  several  other 
passages,  all  dimly  lighted  with  gas  turned  low. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Stuart,  when  the  elevator  had  left 
them,  "let  us  see.  First  turning  to  the  right.  Here  we 
are." 

And  he  led  his  party  down  a  cross  passage  straight  to  a 
door  at  its  extremity. 

That  door,  after  the  manner  of  some  apartment  houses, 
led  into  a  short,  narrow  passage  with  two  doors  on  each  side, 
and  a  window  with  a  fire-escape  at  the  end. 

"This  is  our  private  dwelling — our  house.  This  door 
through  which  we  have  just  passed  is  our  street  door.  This 
passage  is  our  hall.  These  two  doors  on  the  right  lead 
into  our  communicating  parlor  and  bedroom.  The  two  op- 
posite doors  on  the  left  lead  into  the  communicating 
kitchen  and — housekeeper's  bedroom,"  said  Stuart-  He 
hated  to  say  "servant's"  in  the  hearing  of  Mrs.  Pole. 

"Now,  you  see,  Poley  dear,  you  have  more  than  half  the 
'house'  to  yourself,"  added  Palma. 

"Not  quite,"  explained  her  better  informed  husband, 
"for  the  rooms  on  the  right  are  not  so  large  as  those  on 
the  left." 

"Well,  let  us  look  at  them,  and  begin  with  the  kitchen  as 
really  the  most  important  of  the  suite,"  suggested  Palma. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Pole,"  said  Stuart,  with  a  smile,  and  with 


364  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  kitchen  door,  "you  must  not 
be  jealous,  but  I  have  got  a  woman  in  there.  Only  for  the 
day,  Mrs.  Pole,  to  give  us  a  house-warming  and  a  welcome 
in  the  way  of  a  comfortable  tea,  and  so  forth.  She  will 
leave  this  evening,  and  not  return  except  on  Mondays  for 
the  family  wash." 

Mrs.  Pole  did  not  reply.  She  was  jealous  of  any  one  else 
doing  anything  for  the  young  pair. 

"Come,  Poley,  dear,  don't  be  cross — on  the  very  first 
evening  we  get  home,  too,"  pleaded  Palma,  laughing  and 
coaxing. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  cross,  child.  Nor  likewise  jealous,  Mr. 
Stuart.  But  there  wasn't  no  use  in  you  getting  in  any- 
body else  to  get  the  tea  for  you.  I  was  aquil  to  getting 
it,  while  you  was  taking  off  your  tilings,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs. 
Pole,  still  with  an  offended  air. 

"  Come,  Poley !  Please  let  us  off  this  one  time,  and  we 
won't  do  so — no,  never  no  more !"  said  Palma,  putting 
her  fists  into  her  eyes  and  pretending  to  cry 

"Just  hear  to  the  child !  Why,  it  is  only  for  your  own 
sakes  that  I  spoke  at  all.  To  save  you  two  young  creatures 
useless  expense.  There !  I  won't  say  another  word,  and 
I  will  even  be  civil  to  the  strange  woman." 

Peace  being  proclaimed,  Stuart  opened  the  door,  and 
they  passed  into  the  kitchen  with  exclamations  of  surprise 
and  admiration.  Neither  the  young  nor  the  old  woman 
had  ever  seen  or  imagined  the  like  of  a  small,  neat,  "cabi- 
net-finshed"  kitchen,  where  a  princess  of  the  blood  might 
play  at  cooking,  without  the  need  of  making  a  litter  or 
soiling  her  dress. 

A  clean,  fresh-looking  young  woman,  in  a  dark-blue  stuff 
dress,  and  white  apron  and  bib,  presided  over  the  little 
shining  range,  on  which  a  bright  copper  kettle  was  boiling. 

She  smiled  a  silent  welcome,  and  stood  aside  to  make 
room  for  the  newcomers. 

"Is  it  not  charming,  Poley?  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  exquisitely  clean,  compact  and  well  ordered  ?"  demanded 
Palma,  in  approbation. 

"Never!"  replied  Mrs.  Pole.  "Why,  it  is  just  perfec- 
tion !  Cleanliness  and  convenience  itself !  One  won't  have 
to  wear  her  limbs  out  trotting  round  here.  Everything  is 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  365 

in  hand's  reach,  and  one  needn't  make  a  muss  unless  one 
wants  to  do  it." 

From  the  kitchen  they  passed  to  the  housekeeper's  bed- 
room— a  small  chamber,  with  a  white  bed,  white  window 
curtains,  and  a  strip  of  carpet  on  the  dark,  polished  floor, 
and  a  black  walnut  bureau,  wardrobe  and  rocking-chair. 

Mrs.  Pole  expressed  herself  satisfied  with  this. 

Then  they  crossed  the  narrow  passage  to  examine  the 
two  rooms  on  the  other  side — the  communicating  drawing- 
room  and  sleeping  chamber. 

The  little  drawing-room  elegantly  fitted  up,  "cabinet 
finished,"  and  upholstered  in  black  walnut  and  garnet  vel- 
vet, and  the  sleeping  apartment  in  maple  wood,  amber  satin 
and  white  lace. 

Every  article  for  comfort  and  luxury  was  present  in  the 
small  but  elegant  suite. 

Palma  was  charmed,  delighted.  And  Cleve  was  happy 
in  her  happiness. 

"And  now  you  will  not  regret  the  woods  and  hills  of 
Westchester  that  we  have  left  behind  us,  dear?"  he  smiling- 
ly inquired. 

"  No,  no !  Not  for  the  coming  winter.  This  is  delicious 
— for  a  change,"  she  replied. 

The  temporary  servant  came  in  to  lay  the  cloth  for  tea, 
and  then  Stuart  and  Palma  passed  into  their  chamber  to 
lay  off  their  traveling  suits  and  put  on  lighter  garments 
for  the  evening. 

In  half  an  hour  they  returned  to  the  little  dining-room, 
where  they  found  a  dainty  tea  table  ready  and  waiting  for 
them  to  sit  down. 

"Are  you  tired,  dear?"  inquired  Cleve  Stuart,  after  tea 
was  over,  the  service  removed,  the  servant  paid  and  dis- 
missed, and  when  the  young  pair  were  seated  at  the  center 
table,  looking  over  the  latest  magazines,  which  Cleve  had 
been  careful  to  provide. 

"Tired?  No,  not  in  the  least.  A  pleasant  steamboat 
trip  down  the  river  is  not  tiresome,  you  know.  Why  do  you 
ask  ?  I  do  not  look  tired,  do  I  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  promptly.  "I  never  saw  you 
look  fresher,  brighter.  1  thought,  as  we  had  been  out  of 
town  so  long,  sequestered  in  the  woods,  that,  if  you  were 
not  tired,  ycwa  migtetlike  to  go  somewhere." 


866  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Somewhere?"  echoed  Palma,  in  bewilderment,  think- 
ing, perhaps,  of  some  journey  north,  east,  south  or  west. 

"To  some  of  the  attractive  evening  amusements.  Nill- 
gon  will  sing  at  the  Academy  of  Music;  Booth  will  act  at 
Niblo's  Gardens ;  Madame  Janauschek  at— — " 

"Cleve,  where  do  you  want  to  go,  dear?"  inquired  Palma, 
looking  at  him  wistfully. 

"I  really  do  not  care.  I  wish  to  leave  the  choice  to 
you,"  he  answered. 

"You  really  and  truly  do  not  care  which  of  these  celeb- 
rities you  may  go  to  see?"  she  inquired  incisively. 

"No;  I  really  do  not." 

"Then  it  is  certain  that  you  do  not  care  to  go  to  either. 
You  are  blase,  Cleve,  so  far  as  all  these  go.  And  I  am  in- 
different just  because  I  am  so  comfortable  just  where  I  am. 
I  do  not  want  to  go  to  see  any  celebrity  to-night  any  more 
than  you  do.  But  if  there  be  any  other  place  you  would 
like  to  go  to,  any — gentleman's  place,  you  know — any  club 
or  lodge — please  go,  Cleve.  And  never  think  that  I  shall 
believe  you  neglect  me.  Oh,  no,  indeed!  Or  that  I  shall 
be  lonesome.  I  shall  have  enough  to  occupy  me,  helping 
Poley  to  unpack  the  trunks  and  put  away  our  wardrobe  and 
other  effects." 

"I  have  no  club  and  no  lodge,  dear;  nor.  indeed,  do  I 
wish  to  stir  out  to-night.  Where  are  the  'Idyls  of  the 
King*  ?  We  will  finish  Elaine,"  said  Stuart,  and  he  went  in 
search  of  the  book  that  he  and  Palma  had  begun  to  read 
at  Lull's. 

So  quietly  passed  the  evening.  And  quietly  passed  the 
succeeding  days  of  the  young  couple  in  their  new  home. 

The  money  raised  on  the  watch  and  the  seal  ring  would 
support  them  for  some  months  to  come. 

In  the  meantime,  Stuart  purchased  some  elementary  law 
books  and  commenced  the  study  of  his  chosen  profession, 
yet  he  never  relaxed  his  efforts  to  obtain  employment. 

Palma  spent  her  time  in  what  she  humorously  called 
"rag-picking,"  by  which  she  meant  looking  over,  turning, 
piecing,  darning  and  generally  repairing  her  own  and  her 
husband's  wardrobe,  both  of  which  began  to  show  visible 
signs  of  wear  and  tear. 

Airs.  Pole  did  all  the  little  housework,  except  the  laun- 
dering, which  was  given  out  to  Adeline  Watson,  the  young 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  367 

woman  who  had  waited  on  the  little  party  on  the  evening 
they  first  took  possession  of  their  flat. 

On  Sundays,  mornings  and  afternoons,  and  on  Thursday 
evenings,  Cleve  escorted  his  young  wife  to  church.  On 
other  evenings,  he  sometimes  took  her  to  a  concert  or  a  lec- 
ture, or,  to  what  she  liked  best  of  all,  to  a  dramatic  read- 
ing by  some  professional  elocutionist. 

80  serenely  passed  their  days  and  nights,  without  any 
event  to  disturb  their  peace,  until  near  the  first  of  October, 
when  there  came  a  change  in  the  character  of  a  series  of 
disquieting  incidents,  not  at  all,  however,  of  a  distressing 
nature. 

First,  there  were  the  long,  sensational  and  descriptive 
reports  of  the  ceremony  and  festivities,  at  church  and  man- 
sion, of  Mr.  Randolph  Hay  and  Miss  Lamia  Leegh. 

These  were  very  trying  to  Cleve  Stuart.  Well  as  he  knew, 
and  deeply  as  he  despised,  the  beautiful  adventuress  who 
had  held  him  in  her  toils  so  long,  and  had  tempted  him  to 
the  evil  deed  that  he  was  now  atoning  by  the  devotion  of 
his  life — truly  as  he  loved  the  pure  spirit  that  was  now  his 
wife,  yet — yet — he  could  not  hear  or  see  the  name  of  Lamia 
Leegh  without  pain,  could  not  read  of  her  marriage  with- 
out anguish.  He  hated  and  scorned  himself  for  this.  He 
wondered  how  the  fiend  still  held  her  clutch  upon  his  heart- 
strings, and  why  he  had  not  strength  to  wrench  it  off.  He 
recognized  this  condition  as  one  of  mental  or  moral  disease, 
or  insanity.  He  was  no  longer  hallucinated  by  the  woman, 
yet  when  all  the  city  was  still  ringing  with  the  talk  of  their 
wedding  pomps  and  vanities,  he  felt,  in  his  anguish,  as 
another  Laocoon  in  the  crushing  coils  of  the  serpents.  He 
experienced  a  relief  as  if  from  impending  suffocation  when 
he  heard  that  the  bridal  pair  had  sailed  for  Europe !  The 
city  was  delivered  from  them.  The  hemisphere  would  soon 
be  rid  of  them — thank  Heaven !  he  thought. 

As  for  Palma,  she,  too,  read  of  this  grand  wedding,  with 
all  a  young  woman's  lively  interest  in  such  affairs.  And 
in  her  innocence  and  ignorance  of  Stuart's  painful  interest 
in  the  subject,  she  could  talk  of  nothing  else,  for  a  while, 
especially  as  the  bridegroom  was  her  own  cousin,  the  only 
living  relative  she  had  in  this  world,  as  she  repeatedly  re- 
minded her  husband. 

"And  to  think  of  my  own  cousin,  my  dear  father's  broth- 


368  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

er's  only  son,  being  so  near  us,  and  knowing  nothing  about 
us,  Cleve !  Why,  we  ought  to  have  been  invited  to  the 
wedding,  Cleve !  Yes,  and,  of  course,  we  should  have  been, 
if  the  bridegroom  had  known  of  our  existence — so  near  him, 
too !  Indeed,  Cleve,  I  cannot  help  feeling  as  if  we  should 
have  made  ourselves  known  to  my  only  relative,"  persisted 
Palma,  plaintively. 

"And  so  we  should,  dear,  but  for  his  wife.  I  could  not 
permit  you  to  know  his  wife,  Palma,"  gravely  replied 
Stuart. 

"Ah,  yes !  I  remember  you  told  me,  when  we  first  heard 
of  the  engagement,  that  she  was  not  a  good  woman.  What 
a  pity  for  my  dear  cousin !  If  you  could  only  have  warned 
him,  Cleve!"  sighed  Palma. 

"Men  do  not  take  such  warnings,  my  dear ;  do  not  profit 
by  them.  They  consider  them  impertinences  and  resent 
them,"  replied  Stuart. 

"Ah,  well!  I  am  very  sorry  for  him!  The  Hays  were 
always  good  and  true,  whatever  else  they  were.  I  have 
heard  my  father  say  so;  and,  perhaps,  Eandolph  may  make 
a  good  woman  of  Lamia  yet,"  she  said. 

Cleve  Stuart  laughed  so  harshly  and  cynically  that  Palma 
looked  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Let  us  talk  of  something  else,  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  gen- 
tler tone. 

And  the  conversation  changed. 

No  more  allusion  was  made  by  either  Cleve  or  Palma  to 
the  recent  splendid  wedding.  The  papers  made  no  further 
mention  of  it.  Society  ceased  to  talk  of  it. 

There  was  a  new  sensation.  The  most  celebrated  and 
popular  of  all  modern  English  authors  arrived  in  the  city, 
and  began  a  course  of  lectures  which  drew  crowded  houses 
every  night,  and  filled  columns  of  the  newspapers  every 
morning.  He  was  being  talked  about,  written  about,  feted, 
interviewed,  reported  and  lionized  within  an  inch  of  his 
life,  and  all  foregone  social  sensations  were  last  winter's 
snows. 

Stuart  took  Palma  to  one  of  the  lectures  that  she  might 
see  the  lion  of  the  day  and  be  able  ever  afterward  to  say 
that  she  had  seen  him. 

Palma  gazed  and  listened  with  adoring  soul,  and  came 
home  feeling  enriched  and  happy  in  the  possession  of  such 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  369 

a  treasure  as  that  experience  in  the  storehouse  of  her  mem- 
ory. 

It  was  on  the  morning  after  this  lecture  that  Cleve  and 
Palma  were  sitting  in  their  bright  little  parlor  waiting 
for  breakfast  to  be  brought  in. 

Palma  was  clipping  and  stitching  a  new  edge  on  a  frayed 
collar. 

Cleve  was  looking  over  the  Trumpeter,  and  reading  out 
such  items  of  news  as  he  thought  might  interest  his  wife, 
when  suddenly  he  exclaimed : 

"Oh!  see  liere !    What  is  this?" 

"What  is  what?"  demanded  Palma,  looking  up  from  her 
work. 

"Listen!  but  first  let  me  ask — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph 
Hay  sailed  for  Europe,  four  days  ago,  did  they  not?"  he 
inquired. 

"  Why,  of  course,  they  did !  Why  do  you  ask  such  a 
strange  question,  Cleve?"  she  exclaimed,  pausing,  with  her 
needle  in  her  fingers,  and  gazing  at  him  in  much  sur- 
prise and  curiosity. 

"And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph  Hay  are  about  halfway 
across  the  ocean  by  this  time,  are  they  not  ?"  he  continued^ 
without  heeding  her  question. 

"Why,  of  course,  I  suppose  they  are,  unless " 

"Yes,  unless  their  ship  is  wrecked." 

"And  we  have  heard  of  no  wreck." 

"No." 

"At  least,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph  Hay  are  not  on  this 
side  of  the  ocean." 

"No,  of  course  not.     What  do  you  mean,  Cleve,  dear?" 

"What  does  this  mean,  rather?    Listen !"  said  Stuart. 

And  he  took  up  the  Trumpeter,  turned  to  the  first  col- 
umn of  the  first  page,  and  read  the  following  paragraph : 

"JAMES  JORDAN  HAY — Any  information  concerning  the 
children  of  the  late  James  Jordan  Hay,  who  died  in  this 
city,  about  twelve  years  ago,  will  be  thankfully  received 
and  liberally  rewarded  by  their  cousin,  Randolph  Hay,  at 
the  Stardash  Hotel." 

"There,  then  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  demanded 
Stuart,  looking  from  the  paper  to  the  face  of  his  wife. 


370  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"I— I— I  don't  think  at  all!  I  can't  think  I  I'm  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  mental  imbecility!"  replied  Palma, 
gazing  back  at  him. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  a  voice  near  them. 

Both  looked  up  and  saw  Mrs.  Pole  standing  before  them 
with  the  breakfast  tray  in  her  hands. 

"Oh,  Poley,  you  there !  And  have  you  heard?"  inquired 
Palma. 

"The  'vartisement ?  Every  word  of  it!"  replied  Mrs. 
Pole,  setting  the  tray  down  on  the  table,  and  beginning  to 
take  from  it  and  to  arrange  the  coffeepot,  muffins,  cutlets 
and  other  edibles  on  the  cloth. 

"And  what  do  you  say  you  think,  Poley?"  demanded 
Palma,  while  Cleve  Stuart  sat  holding  the  paper  in  his 
hand,  looking  at  them. 

"I  think  if  I  was  Mr.  Stuart  there,  I  would  not  stop 
here  wondering  and  speckerlating ;  but  just  as  soon  as  I  had 
eat  my  breakfast  I  would  take  myself  right  off  to  that 
Stardash  Hotel,  and  ask  to  see  that  same  Mr.  Randolph 
Hay,  and  tell  him  as  you  have  married  the  only  child  of  the 
late  Capt.  Hay.  That's  just  what  I  think  I  would  do,"  said 
the  woman,  positively. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mrs.  Pole,  and,  of  course,  I  shall 
go  to  the  Stardash  immediately  after  breakfast." 

"Well,  now,  then,  sit  up,  both  of  you,  and  eat  it,  or  the 
coffee  will  be  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Pole,  as  she  placed  two 
chairs  at  the  table. 

Cleve  and  Palma  left  their  easy-rockers  and  took  their 
seats  at  the  board;  yet  their  thoughts  were  more  upon  the 
mysterious  advertisement  than  upon  the  good  things  of  the 
table. 

"  Of  course,  it  must  be  some  other  Randolph  Hay,  though 
the  name  is  not  a  common  one,"  said  Cleve. 

"But  he  is  my  cousin — or  so  the  advertisement  runs,"  ob- 
served Palma. 

"Yes.  Well,  it  is  a  riddle  which  I  feel  very  anxious  to 
solve,"  commented  Cleve. 

And  he  hurried  through  his  breakfast  that  he  might 
hasten  away  to  unravel  the  mystery. 

"Hurry  back  as  soon  as  possible,  Cleve;  and  if  the  ad- 
sertiser  is  our  cousin,  bring  him  with  you/'  said  Palma,  as 
she  stood  at  the  door  of  the  elevator  to  see  her  husband  off. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  371 

" Certainly,  if  practicable,  I  will  bring  him  back  with, 
me,"  he  replied,  as  he  entered  the  machine  and  descended 
out  of  sight. 

Palma  returned  to  the  little  drawing-room,  which  Mrs. 
Pole  had  already  put  to  rights,  and  she  sat  down  to  her 
sewing  with  her  mind  busy  on  the  conundrum  of  two  Ran- 
dolph  Hays. 

"Poley,"  she  said  to  the  housekeeper,  when  the  latter  re- 
turned to  the  parlor  on  some  little  errand,  "now  tell  me 
what  you  really  do  think  of  this  mystery." 

"I  did  tell  you,"  said  the  practical  Mrs.  Pole.  "I  told 
you  as  I  thought  Mr.  Stuart  had  better  go  straight  to  the 
hotel  and  find  out  all  about  it  for  himself;  and  he  has 
gone,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  say  about  it." 

"  Oh !  but  it  will  be  so  long  before  he  can  get  back !  Two 
hours,  at  least,  and  three  or  four,  if  he  should  have  any- 
thing like  a  long  talk  with  this  duplicate  cousin,  Randolph 
Hay.  Oh,  Poley,  can't  you  tell  me  what  do  you  make  out 
of  it?" 

"Honey,  I  don't  make  nothing  out  of  it.  I  can't  make 
nothing  out  of  it.  I  never  could  guess  the  easiest  riddles. 
They  allers  give  me  the  headache,"  replied  Mrs.  Pole. 

"  Oh,  dear !  it  does  seem  so  long  and  trying  to  wait," 
sighed  Palma,  as  she  resumed  her  stitching. 

Mrs.  Pole  went  out  of  the  parlor.  This  was  her  clear- 
ing-up  day,  and  she  was  busy  in  the  bright  little  kitchen, 
scouring  boards  that  were  already  clean,  and  polishing  pans 
that  were  already  bright. 

But  Palma  had  not  so  long  to  wait  as  she  anticipated. 
In  something  less  than  two  hours,  and  much  sooner  than 
she  expected  the  return  of  her  husband,  the  door  opened, 
and  Cleve  Stuart  entered  the  room. 

She  sprang  up  to  meet  him. 

"So  soon !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  Bid  you  see  him?  Well ? 
Well?  Well?  Is  he  really  our  cousin?  Where  is  he? 
Why  didn't  you  bring  him?"  she  eagerly,  breathlessly  de- 
manded. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  one  question  at  a  time,"  replied 
Cleve  Stuart,  as  he  deliberately  set  down  his  hat,  drew  off 
his  gloves,  and  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  armchairs. 

"But  tell  me,"  pleaded  Palma,  really  pale  with  sus- 
pense. 


372  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"Well,  I  have  not  seen  the  man,"  replied  Cleve. 

"No?  Not  seen  him?"  demanded  Palma,  with  a  look 
of  surprise  and  disappointment. 

"No.  He  was  not  in  his  room  when  I  called  at  the 
hotel.  But  I  left  a  note  for  him,  asking  him  to  call  here 
for  authentic  news  in  answer  to  his  advertisement." 

"That  was  well  done.  So  we  may  expect  him  here.  Do 
you  think  he  will  come?" 

"Of  course  he  will  come." 

"Soon— to-day?" 

"As  soon  as  possible  after  getting  my  note,  I  think." 

"Cleve,  did  you  learn  anything  about  him  at  the  Star- 
dash?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  arrived  three  days  ago,  on  the  morning  of 
the  second  of  October.  He  registered  as  Randolph  Hay, 
San  Francisco,  California." 

"Why !  just  the  same  as  the  first  Cousin  Randolph  Hay !" 

"Exactly.  So,  you  see,  the  mystery  deepens.  Here  are 
two  men  who  claim  the  very  same  name  and  personality, 
yet  only  one  of  them  can  be  the  real  Randolph  Hay;  the 
other  one  is  an  impostor." 

"But  which  is  real,  and  which  is  false?" 

"We  cannot  yet  tell." 

"And  why  should  there  be  an  impostor?" 

"Because  the  stake  of  a  great  inheritance  would  tempt  an 
unscrupulous  man  to  risk  reputation  and  liberty  to  win  it," 
replied  Cleve. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  COUSINS  MEET 

AT  this  moment  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door. 
"Come  in,"  said  Cleve  Stuart. 
A  boy  entered,  and  presented  a  card. 
Stuart  took  it,  and  read: 

RANDOLPH  HAY 

"Where  is  the  gentleman?"  he  inquired. 
"Waiting  in  the  front  hall,"  replied  the  boy. 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  373 

"Show  him  up  here." 

The  boy  left  the  room. 

"Is  it  Mr.  Hay?"  inquired  Palma. 

"Mr.  Hay,  or  his  counterfeit,  my  dear,"  replied  Stuart. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  door  opened  again,  and  Ran 
Hay  entered,  escorted  by  the  waiter  boy,  who  showed  him 
in,  and  then  immediately  retreated  from  the  room. 

It  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  beautiful,  dark  face  of  Ran 
Hay,  which  seemed  but  a  deeper-toned  image  of  Palina's, 
to  convince  Cleve  Stuart  that  here  stood  the  genuine  Cousin 
Randolph  Hay. 

"Mr.  Hay,  I  presume?"  said  Stuart,  going  forward  to 
meet  the  visitor. 

"  Yes.    Mr.  Stuart  ?"  said  Ran,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 

"That  is  my  name.  And  this  lady  is  Mrs.  Stuart — once 
Miss  Hay,"  he  said,  leading  the  visitor  to  Palma. 

"And  my  cousin.  I  am  sure  you  are  my  cousin;  my 
Uncle  James'  daughter,"  said  Ran,  delight  in  every  tone 
of  his  sweet  voice,  in  every  glance  of  his  dark  eyes,  in  every 
line  of  his  bright  face. 

"Yes;  I  am  Palma,  and,  ah !  so  glad  to  meet  a  kinsman ! 
I  doubted  whether  you  were  my  kinsman  until  I  saw  you ; 
but  I  have  no  doubt  now  I  look  at  you,"  she  answered, 
warmly,  giving  him  smile  for  smile. 

"And  you  might  be  brother  and  sister — twin  brother  and 
sister — from  the  close  resemblance  between  you!"  ex- 
claimed Cleve  Stuart,  looking  from  one  lovely  dark  face  to 
the  other,  and  inviting  his  guest,  by  a  gesture  of  his  hand, 
to  take  a  seat. 

"This  is  the  promptest  and  heartiest  recognition  of  my 
true  identity  that  I  have  received  since  I  came  to  the  city. 
Every  one  else,  though  they  welcomed  me  politely  in  honor 
of  the  letters  I  bore,  met  me,  at  first,  with  a  little  sus- 
picion," said  Ran  as  he  seated  himself.  "As  why  should 
they  not,"  he  continued,  "when  I  came  bearing  the  name 
and  claiming  the  position  of  a  gentleman  whom  they  had 
just  seen  off  to  Europe  on  his  bridal  trip?  How  is  it,  my 
dear  little  cousin,  that  you  receive  me,  at  once,  without 
question  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Randolph,  unless  it  is  from  instinct — 
intuition;  but  though  I  never  saw  you  before,  I  certainly 


374  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

do  recognize  your  claims  to  relationship,  and  rejoice  in  rec- 
ognizing them,"  warmly  replied  Palma. 

"You,  sir — you  take  me  on  trust,  also?"  inquired  Ran, 
turning  with  a  smile  to  his  host. 

"Why,  certainly.  Your  strong  likeness  to  my  wife  goes 
far  to  prove  your  kinship,"  said  Stuart;  "though,"  he 
added,  thoughtfully,  "there  is  undoubtedly  something  that 
needs  explanation  in  this  affair.  Are  there  two  Randolph 
Hays  ?  If  so,  which  is  the  heir  of  Haymore  ?  If  not,  who, 
then,  is  the  gentleman  bearing  that  name  now  on  a  voy- 
age across  the  Atlantic?" 

Ran  paused  a  moment  before  he  answered  all  these  ques- 
tions. Then  he  said : 

"There  is  but  one  Randolph  Hay,  and  that  is  myself.  I 
am  the  heir  of  Haymore.  The  man  bearing  my  name,  now 
on  his  way  to  Europe,  is  a  thief,  a  traitor  and  an  assassin, 
who  shot  me  down  at  night  in  the  Black  Wilderness  of  Cali- 
fornia, left  me  for  dead  and  came  here  to  personate  me 
and  claim  my  inheritance." 

"Great  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Cleve  Stuart. 

Palma  listened  and  £azed  in  silent  dismay. 

"And  doubtless  he  would  have  succeeded  in  keeping  my 
inheritance  but  for  the  Providence  that  led  to  the  dis- 
covery of  my  body  before  it  was  quite  dead,  and  before  the 
wolves  had  destroyed  it.  But  it  is  a  long  story,  and  possi- 
bly you  may  have  some  engagement  this  morning,"  said 
Ran. 

"No,  no!"  eagerly  replied  both  Cleve  and  Palma  in  a 
breath;  "we  have  not.  We  have  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"Do  stay  and  spend  the  day  with  us,"  added  Cleve. 

"  Oh,  yes !  do,  do !  Here,  give  me  your  hat,"  exclaimed 
Palma,  taking  Ran's  soft  black  felt  "wide-awake,"  and 
hanging  it  on  the  tree. 

Ran  looked  from  host  to  hostess,  smiled  frankly,  and 
saying : 

"I  should  really  like  to  do  so  very  much.  I  should  enjoy 
":t  greatly;  but " 

"Well?"  inquired  Stuart,  pleasantly. 

"How  do  I  know  but  that  I  should  be  taking  undue  ad- 
vantage of  your  kindness?" 

"Bosh,  my  dear  fellow.  Unless  you  yourself  have  some 
better  plan  for  the  day,  we  should  be  very  happy  to  have 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  375 

your  company  and  hear  your  story.  There !  look  at  your 
cousin's  face  and  see  whether  we  speak  in  sincerity  or 
only  in  conventional  politeness/'  said  Cleve,  triumphantly. 

Ean  glanced  at  Palma's  eager  countenance,  her  parted 
lips,  her  dancing  eyes,  and  broke  into  a  frank,  boyish  laugh, 
exclaiming  : 

"Why,  really,  now,  I  do  believe  you  are  glad  to  see  your 
rough  California  cousin,  and  are  willing  to  keep  him  all 
day  long !" 

"All  the  week,  all  the  month,  all  the  year,  all  your  life, 
if  you  will,"  exclaimed  impulsive  Palma. 

"All  right,"  laughed  Ean;  "then  I  will  stay  to-day,  cer- 
tainly, with  thanks." 

And  he  drew  off  his  gloves,  put  them  in  his  pocket,  and 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  to  show  that  he  was  gladly  and  grate- 
fully making  himself  at  home. 

"And  now  for  your  story,  Cousin  Eandolph.  You  can't 
say  with  the  knife-grinder,  'Bless  you,  sir,  I  have  no  story 
to  tell/  for  we  know  that  you  have  a  strange  one,"  said 
Palma. 

"Are  you  sure  I  shall  riot  bore  you?"  inquired  Ran. 

"No,"  replied  Palma>  "of  course  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
will  not  bore  me.  How  can  I  be  sure  that  it  will  not  tire  me 
half  to  death  until  I  can  find  out  what  sort  of  a  narrator 
you  are?" 

"Then  you  had  better  not  tempt  me." 

"Oh!  I  am  willing  to  take  the  risk." 

"And  you,  sir?"  said  Ean,  turning  to  Stuart. 

"I  am  really  very  anxious  to  hear  your  account  of  your- 
self, Hay,"  earnestly  replied  his  host. 

So  encouraged,  Ean  Hay  settled  himself  back  in  his 
cushioned  armchair  and  commenced  the  story  of  his  life  as 
it  is  already  so  well  known  to  our  readers. 

Both  his  cousins  gave  their  most  sympathetic  attention 
to  his  tale  of  vicissitudes  and  adventures. 

Palma  listened  with  ready  tears  and  smiles.  She  wept 
at  the  description  of  the  father's  tragic  death.,  and  the  son's 
destitute  and  desolate  condition,  and  cruel  privations  and 
sufferings  until  he  drifted  into  the  mining  camp  of  Grizzly 
Gulch,  where  among  the  rough  miners  he  found  much  kind- 
ness, and  later  plenty  of  work. 

She  laughed  at  his  description  of  No-Man's  Mike,  al- 


376  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

though  loyal  Ran  had  not  the  least  intention  of  holding  up 
his  faithful  friend  and  prospective  brother-in-law  to  be 
"made  fun  of." 

She  rejoiced  at  the  sudden  discovery  of  his  heirship  to 
the  great  Yorkshire  manor.  She  shuddered  at  the  attempt- 
ed murder  in  the  black  woods.  She  smiled  in  delight  at 
the  goodness  and  kindness  of  the  people  about  the  fort 
who  had  rescued  Ean's  body  from  the  wild  beasts  and  had 
nursed  him  back  to  life.  She  glowed  with  admiration  at 
the  devotion  and  heroism  of  Judy  in  following  the  traces 
of  her  lover  through  the  long  black  woods  until  she  found 
him  at  the  end  in  the  fort. 

"I  like  your  Judy  best  of  all.  Oh,  I  like  her  so  much ! 
I  love  her,  "Randolph.  And  I  mean  to  be  not  only  a  cousin, 
but  a  true  sister  to  her.  She  is  the  gem  of  gems !  Now, 
why  should  she  be  left  at  the  fort  ?  Why  may  she  not  come 
here  and  live  with  us,  and  have  a  daily  governess  ?  Even  I 
eould  help  her  with  her  education,"  said  Palma,  enthu- 
siastically. 

"Thank  you  earnestly,  dear  cousin.  If  your  husband 
should  approve,  this  plan  may  be  thought  of,"  said  Ran, 
gratefully. 

"I  am  sure  to  approve  of  any  plan  that  Palma  favors," 
added  Cleve,  heartily. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  said  Ran. 

"This  adventurer,  this  Delamere,  or  Gentleman  Geff,  or 
whatever  he  was,  played  a  very  desperate  game  for  very 
high  stakes  and  had  very  nearly  won  them,"  murmured 
Cleve  Stuart,  musing  on  all  that  he  had  heard. 

"Yes,"  assented  Ran,  "he  had  very  nearly  won.  I  had 
the  narrowest  possible  escape  with  my  life.  But,  in  point 
of  fact,  his  game  was  not  as  desperate  as  you  think.  The 
chances  of  his  success,  if  you  come  to  look  at  them,  were  a 
thousand  to  one  against  his  failure.  There  was  the  place, 
the  deep,  lonely  wilderness;  the  time,  the  dead  of  night; 
the  surroundings,  hungry,  wild  beasts  everywhere ;  the  man- 
ner of  the  crime,  the  victim  shot  down  and  left  for  dead, 
with  the  apparent  certainty  of  being  devoured  by  the  fam- 
ished wolves  before  morning;  discovery  improbable,  identi- 
fication impossible.  Don't  you  see?  But  for  the  oppor- 
tune finding  of  me  by  the  hunter,  Longman,  almost  imme- 
diately after  I  was  shot  down,  Gentleman  Geff's  crime 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  377 

could  never  have  been  discovered,  and  he  would  have  lived 
in  affluence  as  the  Squire  of  Haymore  Manor,  most  proba- 
bly loved  and  respected  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  at  last 
died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity,  for  all  we  know." 

"Instead  of  which  he  will  probably  live  in  penal  servi- 
tude and  die  in  some  prison,"  added  Cleve  Stuart. 

"Not  if  any  forebearance  on  my  part  can  save  him  from 
the  consequences  of  his  crime,"  said  Ean. 

"Why  should  you  wish  to  save  him?"  demanded  Cleve 
Stuart,  with  some  severity. 

"In  pity  for  his  poor  young  wife.  I  feel  very  sorry  for 
her.  It  is  sad  that  she  should  suffer,  poor,  innocent  young 
creature !" 

Cleve  Stuart  broke  into  a  bitter,  sardonic  laugh. 

"Now,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  demanded  Ean, 
raising  his  eyebrows. 

•"Your  poor,  innocent  young  creature  is  a  mature  woman 
of  the  world,  an  adventuress  like  her  accomplished  husband. 
Let  us  dismiss  her.  Now,  what  do  the  Wallings  say  about 
your  claim  ?" 

"Oh !  they  say  that  the  evidence  of  my  identity  as  next  of 
kin  to  the  late  squire  and  as  heir-at-law  to  the  Haymore 
Manor,  are  perfectly  satisfactory  to  them,  and  that  they  are 
quite  unquestionable;  although,  of  course,  there  will  be 
some  forms  of  law  to  go  through  before  my  adversary  can 
be  ejected  and  myself  put  in  possession/' 

"Of  course,"  assented  Cleve  Stuart,  "and  I  hope  that  his 
ejection  from  the  estate  will  be  the  forerunner  of  his  intro- 
duction to  the  State  prison." 

"No,"  said  Ean,  gravely,  "so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  he 
may  go  scot-free.  If  it  depend  on  me,  he  shall  never  be 
prosecuted  either  for  fraud  or  for  assault." 

"What!  My  dear  fellow!  You  would  let  a  villain  like 
that  escape  punishment?"  exclaimed  Stuart. 

"Yes;  if  it  lay  with  me  to  do  so,"  stoutly  replied  Ean. 

"But  forbearance  toward  this  man  would  be  injustice 
toward  the  community." 

"I  don't  see  that.  He  wronged  me,  not  the  community. 
And  I  have  not  only  the  right  to  condone  his  offense,  but 
the  duty  to  do  so,"  persisted  Ean. 

"Oh,  well !  If  you  adduce  the  Scriptural  argument,  I 
have  no  more  to  say/'  gravely  replied  Stuart. 


378  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

"But  now  I  have  something  more  to  say  on  another  sub- 
ject, or  rather,  perhaps,  on  another  branch  of  this  subject/* 
said  Ran.  And  then  he  paused,  and  looked  from  Cleve  to 
Palma. 

They  said  nothing,  but  they  seemed  attentive,  and  Ran 
resumed : 

"When  i  advertised  for  news  of  my  relatives  it  was  not 
from  curiosity,  nor  even  was  it  altogether  from  the  prompt- 
ings of  natural  family  affection.  It  was  from  a  sense  of 
right — a  wish  to  do  justice  to  my  cousins." 

"  'Justive !'  "  repeated  Stuart,  in  a  tone  of  inquiry  that 
Palma's  questioning  look  abetted. 

"Yes — justice.  Attend  to  me  for  one  moment.  When  I 
first  heard  that  there  was  another  Randolph  Hay  claiming 
my  rightful  estate,  I  did  not  suspect  fraud.  I  really 
thought  that  the  man  was  the  son  of  my  Uncle  James — 
thought  so  the  more  readily  because  Randolph  is  a  name 
that  often  recurs  in  our  pedigree." 

"Ah!"  muttered  Cleve  Stuart. 

"So  I  believed  that  the  claim  had  been  put  forward  in 
good  faith  and  in  ignorance  of  my  existence  and  my  prior 
rights.  With  my  mind  prepossessed  of  this  theory,  I  came 
to  New  York,  with  the  intention  of  seeking  my  own,  cer- 
tainly, but  also  with  another  additional  intention  of  divid- 
ing my  estate,  when  I  should  have  taken  possession  of  it, 
with  my  supposed  kinsman,  the  other  Randolph  Hay." 

"That  would  have  been  a  most  quixotic  piece  of  magna- 
nimity, if  you  could  have  carried  out  your  intentions,  my 
dear  fellow.  But  don't  you  know — of  course  you  must 
know  now,  if  you  did  not  before — that  the  Haymore  estate 
is  entailed  and  cannot  be  alienated,  either  in  whole  or  in 
part  ?"  inquired  Cleve  Stuart. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  that:  and  I  have  always  known  it — at 
least,  as  long  as  I  have  known  anything  about  the  Manor 
of  Haymore.  I  did  not  allude  to  the  land  when  I  spoke  of 
dividing  the  property.  I  meant  the  vast  personal  in  the 
coal  mines,  the  railways,  and  so  on.  These  I  meant  to 
divide  with  my  supposed  kinsman,  giving  him  the  larger 
share  to  compensate  for  the  share  of  the  land  which  entail 
debarred  him  from ;  for  I  do  not  believe  in  this  cruel  law  of 
primogeniture  which  gives  everything  to  the  elder  and 
nothing  to  the  younger  sons." 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  379 

<rWell,  but  your  magnanimous  designs  were  frustrated 
when  you  discovered  that  the  fraudulent  claimant  was  not 
your  unknown  kinsman,  but  your  much  too  well-known 
comrade  and  assassin/'  said  Stuart. 

"They  were  frustrated  in  that  direction  only  to  be  turned 
into  a  much  better  and  pleasanter  one/'  said  Kan,  with  a 
bow  and  a  smile  for  Palma. 

Cleve  Stuart  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"It  was  after  that  discovery  that  I  determined  to  seek 
out  my  cousins;  and  in  pursuance  of  my  object,  inserted 
the  advertisement,  which  you  answered  this  morning,  Mr. 
Stuart." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  So  glad  you  sought  us  out,  Cousin 
Randolph  \"  heartily  exclaimed  Palma,  who  was  utterly  un- 
suspicious of  the  generous  intentions  of  the  young  heir 
toward  herself. 

"Thank  you,  dear  Palma.  So  am  I  glad ;  very  glad.  My 
life  is  enriched  by  the  discovery  and  knowledge  of  my  dear 
cousins,"  said  Ean,  warmly,  glancing  from  the  bright  face 
of  Palma  to  that  of  Cleve,  as  if  to  include  him  also  in  the 
claim  of  a  happy  relationship.  "But,"  he  continued,  "as  I 
said  before,  it  was  not  from  the  yearnings  of  family  af- 
fection alone  that  I  sought  out  mv  kindred,  but  from  the 
sense  of  right,  the  love  of  justice.  Though  my  Uncle  James 
left  no  son,  as  I  had  supposed  he  did,  yet  he  left  a  daughter, 
thank  Heaven !  And  that  daughter,  in  right  and  justice,  if 
not  in  law,  is  entitled  to  a  large  portion  of  her  grandfathers 
estate." 

"Cousin  Randolph,  I — I  don't  understand.  What — what 
do  you  mean?"  exclaimed  the  surprised  and  bewildered 
young  woman. 

"I  mean,  dear  Palma,  to  settle  on  you  one-half  of  our 
grandfather's  personal  property.  It  will  amount — your 
share  I  mean — to  four  thousand  pounds,  or  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year.  You  may  not  need  it,  dear " 

"Oh,  no,  indeed.  I  do  not  need  it.  Cleve  is  quite  well 
off.  He  has  one  of  the  richest  old  plantations  on  the  Missis- 
sippi, extending  miles  along  the  river.  And  we  live  so 
simply  and  plainly  that  I  am  sure  we  do  not  spend  one- 
tenth  of  his  income,"  earnestly  answered  Palma,  speaking 
in  perfect  good  faith,  and  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  ruin 
wrought  in  Stuart's  fortunes  by  the  civil  war. 


380  WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER? 

The  reader  will  remember  that,  in  tenderness  to  her,  he 
had  always  concealed  the  fact  of  his  poverty,  and  the  des- 
perate expedients  to  which  he  was  put  to  supply  their  daily 
needs,  but  Cleve  Stuart  never  knew  before  how  perfectly 
successful  he  had  been  in  this  secrecy. 

"Whether  you  need  it  or  not,  it  is  yours  by  right,  my  dear 
cousin,  and  you  must  have  it,"  said  Ran,  firmly. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Hay,  we  cannot  accept  your  very  magnani- 
mous and  too  impulsive  offer.  It  would  lay  us  under  much 
too  heavy  an  obligation,"  said  Cleve  Stuart,  earnestly. 

Ban  regarded  him  with  mock  gravity  for  a  moment,  and 
then  replied : 

"I  am  very  sorry,  I  am  sure.  But  I  cannot  help  it.  You 
will  have  to  try  to  bear  the  burden."  Then,  more  seriously, 
he  said : 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Stuart.  I  hold  the  law  of  primogeniture 
to  be  a  hideously  unjust  and  cruel  one.  And  I  do  not  mean 
to  abide  by  it  when  I  have  the  power  of  departing  from  it. 
Now  here  are  the  two  of  us — your  wife  and  myself.  We 
are  own  cousins — the  children  of  two  brothers,  with  only 
eighteen  months  between  their  ages,  my  father  being  just 
that  little  the  elder.  We  are  the  grandchildren  of  the  late 
squire,  and  the  sole  surviving  descendants  of  the  old  family 
of  the  Hays  of  Haymore.  By  the  laws  of  primogeniture,  I, 
being  the  heir,  inherit  everything.  But,  in  justice,  I  and 
my  cousin  should  be  equal  co-heirs.  Now  I  propose  to  set 
the  law  of  primogeniture  right  by  the  law  of  justice.  I 
mean  to  settle  the  full  half  of  our  grandfather's  personal 
property  on  my  Cousin  Palma,  whether  you  like  it  or  not, 
and  no  one  can  or  shall  prevent  my  doing  so.  'D'ye  moind  ?' 
as  Mike  would  say." 

Before  either  Cleve  or  Palma  could  reply,  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Pole  entered  to  light  the  gas  and  lay  the 
cloth  for  dinner. 

When  the  room  was  illuminated,  Palma  called  to  the 
housekeeper : 

"Come  here,  Poley,  dear.  I  want  you  to  know  my  dear, 
new-found  cousin." 

Mrs.  Pole  extinguished  her  wax-lighter  and  came  up. 

"Cousin  Randolph,"  said  Palma,  "we  are  plain  people, 
and  don't  care  a  rush  for  ceremony,  conventionality,  dis- 
tinctions of  rank,  or  any  other  such  nonsense.  This  is  my 


WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER?  381 

dear  friend,  nurse,  housekeeper  and  almost  mother — Mrs. 
Mary  Pole.  And,  Poley,  this  is  my  dear,  new-found  cousin, 
Mr.  Randolph  Hay/'  said  Palma,  beaming  on  both  parties. 

Ran  stood  up,  and  offered  his  hand  to  the  elderly  woman, 
saying : 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  ma'am." 

"So  am  I  you!"  cheerily  responded  the  housekeeper. 
"And  mighty  proud  that  these  two  young  people  have 
found  out  a  real  relation,  sir.  It  did  seem  as  if  they  was 
nothing  to  nobody  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Ran,  with  a  smile. 

Then  Mrs.  Pole  went  back  to  her  business,  and  arranged 
the  dinner  on  the  table,  and  invited  the  party  to  take  their 
seats. 

It  was  a  very  simple  repast,  more  in  keeping  with  Cleve 
Stuart's  real  condition  than  with  Palma's  imaginary  in- 
come. 

But  the  three  young  people  enjoyed  it  vastly. 

When  they  had  freely  discussed  the  baked  fowl  and  po- 
tatoes that  formed  the' first  course,  and  the  rice  pudding 
and  roast  apples  that  formed  the  second,  and  had  finished 
with  a  cup  of  coffee  all  around,  Ran  Hay  was  moved  to 
invite  his  cousin  to  go  with  him  to  the  Academy  of  Music, 
where  a  celebrated  prima  donna  was  to  play  "Norma." 

Cleve  glanced  at  Palma,  and  saw  that  she  was  eager  to 
have  this  plesure.  So  he  frankly  accepted  the  invitation 
for  himself  and  his  wife. 

They  went  to  the  opera,  and  enjoyed  the  music  as  only 
the  young  and  enthusiastic  can  enjoy  such  delights. 

After  the  opera,  Ran  insisted  on  their  going  with  him  to 
a  first-class  restaurant,  where  he  entertained  them  at  an 
elegant  little  supper. 

An  hour  later,  at  twelve  midnight,  he  bade  good-night  to 
his  cousins  at  the  door  of  their  own  house. 

In  that  moment  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  room  for 
sadness,  the  clouds  of  trouble  were  already  gathering  on  the 
horizon. 

The  sequel  to  this  story  is  published  complete  in  one 
volume  entitled,  "For  Whose  Sake,"  and  bound  in  cloth! 
uniform  with  this  volume. 

THE  END 


BURT'S  SERIES  of  STANDARD  FICTION. 

RICHELIEU.  A  tale  of  France  in  the  reign  of  King  Louis  XIIL  By  G.  P. 
R.  James.  Cloth,  iztno.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  fi.oo. 

In  1829  Mr.  James  published  his  first  romance,  "Richelieu,"  and  was 
recognized  at  once  as  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft. 

In  this  book  he  laid  the  story  during  those  later  days  of  the  great  car- 
dinal's life,  when  his  power  was  beginning  to  wane,  but  while  It  was 
yet  sufficiently  strong  to  permit  now  and  then  of  volcanic  outbursts  which 
overwhelmed  foes  and  carried  friends  to  the  topmost  wave  of  prosperity. 
One  of  the  most  striking  portions  of  the  story  Is  that  of  Cinq  Mar's  conspir- 
acy; the  method  of  conducting  criminal  cases,  and  the  political  trickery 
resorted  to  by  royal  favorites,  affording  a  better  Insight  into  the  state- 
craft of  that  day  than  can  be  had  even  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  history. 
It  Is  a  powerful  romance  of  love  and  diplomacy,  and  In  point  of  thrilling 
and  absorbing  Interest  has  never  been  excelled. 

A  COLONIAL  FREE-LANCE.  A  story  of  American  Colonial  Times.  By 
Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

A  book  that  appeals  to  Americans  as  a  vivid  picture  of  Revolutionary 
scenes.  The  story  Is  a  strong  one,  a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  tru« 
American  to  flush  with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter,  until 
the  eyes  smart,  and  it  fairly  smokes  with  patriotism.  The  love  story  is  a 
singularly  charming  idyl. 

THE  TOWER  OF  LONDON.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Times  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  and  Mary  Tudor.  By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainsworth.  Cloth,  I2tae.  with 
four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

This  romance  of  the  "Tower  of  London"  depicts  the  Tower  as  palace, 
prison  and  fortress,  with  many  historical  associations.  The  era  is  the 
middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  story  Is  divided  Into  two  parts,  one  dealing  with  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
and  the  other  with  Mary  Tudor  as  Queen,  introducing  other  notable  char- 
acters of  the  era.  Throughout  the  story  holds  the  Interest  of  the  reader 
in  the  midst  of  Intrigue  and  conspiracy,  extending  considerably  over  a 
half  a  century. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KING.  A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched  In  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery, 
and  true  love  that  thrills  from  beginning  to  end,  with  the  spirit  of  the 
Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a 
part  In  the  exciting  scenes  described.  His  whole  story  is  so  absorbing 
that  you  will  sit  up  far  into  the  night  to  finish  It.  As  a  love  romance 
it  Is  charming. 

GARTHOWEN.  A  story  of  a  Welsh  Homestead.  By  Allen  Raine.  Cloth, 
izrno.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

"This  Is  a  little  idyl  of  humble  life  and  enduring  love,  laid  bare  before 
us,  very  real  and  pure,  which  in  Its  telling  shows  us  some  strong  points  of 
Welsh  character — the  pride,  the  hasty  temper,  the  quick  dying  out  of  wrath. 
.  .  .  We  call  this  a  well-written  story,  interesting  alike  through  Its 
romance  and  Its  glimpses  into  another  life  than  ours.  A  delightful  and 
clever  picture  of  Welsh  village  life.  The  result  is  excellent."— Detroit  Free 
Press. 

MIFANWY.  The  story  of  a  Welsh  Singer.  By  Allan  Raine.  Cloth, 
I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  fi.oo. 

"This  Is  a  love  story,  simple,  tender  and  pretty  as  one  would  care  to 
read.  The  action  throughout  Is  brisk  and  pleasing;  the  characters.  It  Is  ap- 
parent at  once,  are  as  true  to  life  as  though  the  author  had  known  them 
all  personally.  Simple  in  all  its  situations,  the  story  is  worked  up  In  that 
touching  and  quaint  strain  which  never  grows  wearisome,  no  matter  how 
often  the  lights  and  shadows  of  love  are  introduced.  It  rings  true,  and 
does  not  tax  the  Imagination."— Boston  Herald. 


HURT'S  SCRIES  of  STANDARD   FICTION. 

DARNLEV.  A  Romance  of  the  times  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis. 
Price,  $1.00. 

As  a  historical  romance  "Darnley"  is  a  book  that  can  be  taken  up 
pleasurably  again  and  again,  for  there  is  about  it  that  subtle  charm  which 
those  who  are  strangers  to  the  works  of  G.  P.  R.  James  have  claimed  was 
only  to  be  imparted  by  E>umas. 

If  there  was  nothing  more  about  the  work  to  attract  especial  attention, 
the  account  of  the  meeting  of  the  kings  on  the  historic  "field  of  the  cloth  of 
gold"  would  entitle  the  story  to  the  most  favorable  consideration  of  every 
reader. 

There  Is  really  but  little  pure  romance  In  this  story,  for  the  author  has 
taken  care  to  imagine  love  passages  only  between  those  whom  history  has 
credited  with  having  entertained  the  tender  passion  one  for  another,  and 
be  succeeds  in  making  such  lovers  as  all  the  world  must  Jove. 

WINDSOR  CASTLE.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Reign  of  Henry  VIII 
Catharine  of  Aragon  and  Anne  Boleyn.  By  Win.  Harrison  Aiusworth.  Cloth. 
i2tno.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  $1.00. 

• 'Windsor  Cantle"  is  the  story  of  Henry  VIII.,  Catharine,  and  Anne 
Boleyn.  "Bluff  King  Hal,"  although  a  well-loved  monarch,  was  none  too 
good  a  one  in  many  ways.  Of  all  his  selfishness  and  unwarrantable  acts, 
none  was  more  discreditable  than  his  divorce  from  Catharine,  and  his  mar- 
riage to  the  beautiful  Anne  Boleyn.  The  King's  love  was  as  brief  as  it 
was  vehement.  Jane  Seymour,  waiting  maid  on  the  Queen,  attracted  him, 
and  Anne  Boleyn  was  forced  to  the  block  to  make  room  for  her  successor. 
This  romance  Is  one  of  extreme  interest  to  all  readers. 

HORSESHOE  ROBINSON.  A  tale  of  the  Tory  Ascendency  in  South  Caro- 
lina in  1780.  By  John  P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J. 
Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Among  the  old  favorites  In  the  field  of  what  Is  known  as  historical  fic- 
tion, there  are  none  which  appeal  to  a  larger  number  of  Americans  than 
Horseshoe  Robinson,  and  this  because  it  is  the  only  story  which  depicts 
with  fidelity  to  the  facts  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  colonists  in  South  Caro- 
lina to  defend  their  homes  against  the  brutal  oppression  of  the  British 
under  such  leaders  as  Cornwallis  and  Tarleton. 

The  reader  is  charmed  with  the  story  of  love  which  forms  the  thread 
of  the  tale,  and  then  Impressed  with  the  wealth  of  detail  concerning  those 
times.  The  picture  of  the  manifold  sufferings  of  the  people,  is  never  over- 
drawn, but  painted  faithfully  and  honestly  by  one  who  spared  neither 
time  nor  labor  In  his  efforts  to  present  in  this  charming  love  story  all  that 
price  in  blood  and  tears  which  the  Carolinians  paid  as  their  share  In  the 
winning  of  the  republic. 

Take  It  all  In  all,  "Horseshoe  Robinson"  Is  a  work  which  should  be 
found  on  every  book-shelf,  not  only  because  It  is  a  most  entertaining 
story,  but  because  of  the  wealth  of  valuable  information  concerning  the 
colonists  which  it  contains.  That  it  has  been  brought  out  once  more,  well 
illustrated,  is  something  which  will  give  pleasure  to  thousands  who  have 
long  desired  an  opportunity  to  read  the  story  again,  and  to  the  many  who 
have  tried  vainly  in  these  latter  days  to  procure  a  copy  that  they  might 
read  It  for  the  first  time. 

THE  PEARL  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND.  A  story  of  the  Coast  of  Maine.  By 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Cloth,  I2mo.  Illustrated.  Price,  f  i.oo. 

Written  prior  to  1862,  the  "Pearl  of  Orr's  Island"  is  ever  new;  a  book 
filled  with  delicate  fancies,  such  as  seemingly  array  themselves  anew  each 
time  one  reads  them.  One  sees  the  "sea  like  an  unbroken  mirror  all 
around  the  pine-girt,  lonely  shores  of  Orr's  Island,"  and  straightway 
comes  "the  heavy,  hollow  moan  of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  like  the  wild 
angry  howl  of  some  savage  animal." 

Who  can  rend  of  the  beginning  of  that  sweet  life,  named  Mara,  which 
came  into  this  world  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Death  angel's  wfngs, 
•without  having  an  intense  desire  to  know  how  the  premature  bud  blos- 
somed? Again  and  again  one  lingers  over  the  descriptions  of  the  char- 
acter of  that  baby  boy  Moses,  who  came  through  the  tempest,  amid  the 
angry  billows,  pillowed  on  his  dead  mother's  breast. 

There  Is  no  more  faithful  portrayal  of  New  England  life  than  that 
Which  Mrs.  Stowe  gives  In  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island." 


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